Penitentes
by trimurti
Summary: Inside the Deep Dungeon, there is a corridor that lures in those steeped in regret. Some of Ramza's finest warriors are trapped there, and the only person who can save them is...Mustadio?
1. Prologue: Prophet

Penitentes

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

**Prologue: Prophet**

There is an island a hundred sectas off the Lionel coast, the only one in the northwestern part of the East Bugroth Ocean. This island has only one point of interest: a dilapidated stone building. For centuries this building was a lighthouse, used to safely guide trade ships to Warjilis Trade City. However, early in the Fifty Year War the lighthouse was raided by Ordalian soldiers, who sought to weaken Ivalice's ability to import and export goods. The magic fire that the lighthouse officials strove to keep aflame died during the massacre, as well as all the magicians, dockhands, and other workers who had lived and worked there.

There were many attempts to fix the lighthouse during the middle of the war. Lionel's growth depended on Warjilis' international worth as a trade city. Without the lighthouse's guiding light to ensure the safety of vessels loaded with valuable goods, countries already reluctant to continue trade with the war-torn country made excuses to end their trade agreements. All kinds of workers were shipped over to the island, but many of them died within the yellowed walls of the lighthouse. The workers who survived had fantastic tales about the floors beneath the ground level, a place so dark that it was impossible to know if the next step one took would find solid earth, a trap that would be certain to lead to death, or nothing at all except for the thick, musty air that permeated throughout the place. Monsters lurked within the nothingness, the only evidence of their existence being the sounds of their heavy, humid breaths, the low scrape of leather-roughened skin against rock as their footsteps padded along the ground, and their sharp howls of glee once they found a victim to feast upon.

The survivors called it a deep dungeon, a place of absolute death.

Disheartened by these stories, Lionel officials decided to stop their attempts at fixing the lighthouse. In the end Warjilis still made enough capital that the cost of warriors, along with the requisite manpower necessary to run the place, would only improve trade nominally at best. However, the adventurers of Ivalice, who were unable to explore the rest of the country due to the invasions, flocked to the island in droves. The Deep Dungeon became the litmus test of adventuring; reputations were made or shattered based on one's actions within the dank blackness. Hunters too traveled to the former lighthouse, bent on poaching some of the rare monsters that had become impossible to find in the wild when the Ordalian soldiers had marched into Zeltennia and Limberry. Many adventurers and hunters died within the Deep Dungeon, but those who lived could often be found in one of Warjilis' many bars, gloating about their near-death experiences and the treasures they had found. They bragged, but all of them clutched their mugs with white-knuckled grips, unable to live outside of a drunken haze.

After the war the adventurers and hunters went back into Ivalice proper, finding that the battles had imprinted an indelible mark upon the land and formed new ruins out of once familiar grounds. Those who wanted to seek the thrill of death inside the Deep Dungeon slowed to a trickle, though there were still many who rented fishing boats from Warjilis' harbor and sailed to the island, hoping to be the one to find the ultimate treasure or the last floor within its bowels. Even the great mage Elidibs, Gariland Magic Academy's gift to the war effort, went to the island, though he reportedly never came out again. The temerity of these people caused them to travel to the Deep Dungeon even during the Lion War.

Not one of its many visitors understood the Deep Dungeon for what it was. They did not understand what was happening to them as they went deeper into the darkness. Perhaps they didn't want to understand the slowly encroaching madness that inevitably descended upon their parties, the emergence of the primal, reptilian brain as the dominating factor in their thought processes. No human could ever prepare for complete nothingness. None of them could tune out the whispers of the darkness around them, inside them. Many of them never even tried.

Ramza Beoulve knew nothing about the Deep Dungeon's infamy when he led his group to the island. He had heard about treasure and a magician, but nothing about the subtle plucking of fear one felt as they ventured into the musty environs. Although Ramza had faced many trials throughout the last three years, he was, at heart, still a teenager. He thought he had faced it all.

He hadn't.

-0-

They walked in a single file line, hand in hand, and if it had been anywhere other than the Deep Dungeon they would've looked like silly adults mocking the play of children. As it was, this was necessary if they wanted to meander through the desolate blackness with a degree of safety. None of them possessed a sight capable of piercing through the darkness, and there was no other method available at the present moment. When they had first arrived, there had been the idea of using either Rafa or Malak Galthana's magical abilities to light up areas in the distance (as no one favored the ability to see something close with the possibility of getting electrocuted or burnt), but the only thing that had seemed to work was to leave the crystalized quintessence shimmering over the bodies of those they had killed. That disturbed many in the group, and so everyone held hands and walked forward.

They had been walking and fighting within this pit for hours without rest, and Mustadio Bunanza felt it the most. Unlike the others of their diverse group, he was a wholly average human being who, prior to finding the holy stone in Goug, was not a supporter of vigorous exercise. He was not an elite knight, or an ex-assassin, or someone imbued with dragon's blood, nor was he an indefatigable robotic relic or a former cadet for knighthood. He was just a guy who dug things up and put things together, and he was tired. It had fallen to him to be the voice of reason several times throughout this excursion already, but the deeper they ventured into the abyss the more snappish the retorts to his complaints had been. Ramza had been forced to intervene once already. The only thing surprising about that skirmish was that the mechanic had set off Agrias Oaks, she of the unflinching demeanor.

Mustadio had already forgotten the incident when he decided to ask her about something. Since he was second in line and the Holy Knight was somewhere in the back, he went about this duty by yelling to her, "Hey Aggie, d'ya have the rations?"

Ramza turned his head slightly, more out of habit than a sincere acknowledgment. "Don't tease her, Mustadio," he said lowly, though there was a trace of amusement in his words. Mustadio, in an attempt to lighten up the group's often dour disposition, tended to refer to others using diminutive names. It had grown into a habit with some people, notably the ones who detested it and made it known.

"Look, her name's bad luck to someone like me," Mustadio mumbled. In the Lionel dialect, 'agrias' meant 'explosions'. That was also what had occurred the first few times he had used this nickname, and with the mood she had been in earlier it was what he was expecting now. Instead, there was no response. "Aggie?" he called again.

Nothing.

"Weird," he remarked loudly. Agrias was a cold woman at times, but she always responded, albeit in a tone that could outdo an ice spell in frostiness. "Hey, are you _that_ angry at me?" He waited for a reply, perhaps an affirmation, but still he heard nothing. "I feel like I'm screaming into the darkness," he muttered.

"Well, you are," Ramza replied. He had a gift for grasping the obvious, which was why the subtleties his opponents had used over the years had never failed to trick him.

"Thanks," Mustadio retorted. He glanced behind him and tried to peer into the darkness. "Hey Melly, what's going on back there!" he called, a tinge of desperation clinging to his voice. But there was no response from Meliadoul Tingel, and she had been ambivalent about her Mustadio-given name.

"This doesn't seem right," Ramza stated after a moment of silence. He called for everyone to stop, which they did as efficiently as possible. He thought for a few seconds, then decided to do something he hadn't seen done since the academy. "I'm going to call out your names, and I'd like for you to respond back," he called, and a few people halfheartedly voiced their agreements. "Mustadio."

"I'm holding your hand. Wouldn't that mean that you'd already know I'm here?"

Ramza ignored the question and continued to go down the line. "Worker 8."

/Awaiting your command, Master Ramza./

He called each name and received a response, from Rafa and Malak to Reis and Beowulf, but his pitch went slightly higher when he reached the next person in line. If anyone could disappear at a moment's notice, it would be this next individual. "Cloud?"

"Yes?" Unsurprisingly, the man from another world sounded disoriented.

"Just checking. Agrias?" Like the other times she didn't respond, but Ramza was still surprised. "Meliadoul?" Nothing. "Sir Orlandu?"

Nothing.

Ramza decided to try a different approach. "Cloud, are you holding Agrias' hand?"

"Um...no."

This was not the answer Ramza wanted to hear. "And why not?" he asked, his tone peculiarly flat, the only way to tell if he was annoyed both above and below ground.

There was the sound of shuffling feet, rubber soles scraping along the rocky ground. "I didn't notice."

At this, there were a number of disconcerted grumbles. Things like, "How could you not notice someone's hand letting go of _yours_?" and "I told you we shouldn't have taken him!" warred with "But people don't just disappear into thin air," and "Well, the air's kinda thick, actually..."

"Alright," Ramza said, more calm than the circumstances allowed. "Reis," he called, "what did you hear?"

His question was phrased differently than if he had posed it to any other member in his troop. Though Reis Dular looked human, her senses were anything but. She was in the very center of the line for this reason, to maximize her potential of catching anything dangerous before and behind them equally. Coupled with a memory that could recall the events of a random day two weeks ago with the weather, sights, sounds, smells and her own feelings at the time intact, such a request would hardly be trouble for her.

"I...don't know," she whispered. With their sight lost, their hearing was magnified to the point that they all picked up her words. "Strange, I can't remember...hm?"

"What is it?" Beowulf Kadmus' voice was full of worry. He had never, not before she was a dragon or afterward, heard her say that she couldn't remember something.

"A dragon," she stated, the timbre of her voice shifting from a level humans were comfortable with to one that resonated with the draconic nature. Normally such a change went unnoticed by the other members of the party, but the deeper they went into the Deep Dungeon, the more it seemed that their own beings were sinking into a quagmire of primal urges. Even Rafa was enjoying the fights.

Ramza shuffled his weight from one foot to another. "Do you think it would know where everyone else is?"

A rumble, like the ominous roll of thunder before lightning struck, escaped from the dragon and reverberated through the moist darkness. "It says it does...but there is a problem," the dragoner reported.

"Which is?"

Reis sighed. "How do I put this...it's impossible for a normal human to get to."

"We'll decide that," Ramza said, his tone unusually curt. "They're our allies. We won't leave them behind."

'Allies'. The word bothered Mustadio, who frowned at this. He had never thought that Ramza saw them only as convenient comrades of war. After all, it was _Ramza_, eternally kindhearted Ramza.

"Yes, of course." The woman sounded pensive, as if she disagreed but was unwilling to voice her complaint. "There was a place we have recently passed through, the one with the twists and turns like a labyrinth. There is a corridor there...apparently, lots of humans go through there and are corrupted by something. That's why we've been fighting so many humans."

"Corrupted?" Rafa interrupted, her voice softer than usual. "By what?"

There was another rumble, this one more like the barest hint of an earthquake. "Ah...something like 'fear'. Fear of committing a personal sin? Is that what you mean?" An impatient growl broke through Reis' stumbling words. "Something only humans have...a sadness that clings to the soul...a fear that eats away like venom. Oh, you mean regret, right?"

"I don't get it," Mustadio muttered. "So, people that go through this corridor are corrupted by their own regrets, or someone else's?"

"Their own. Their regrets are heightened to such a point that they lose themselves in their pain and failures. Then, they wander, nothing more than shells. Only a human without regrets can pass through that place without being...turned." A soft sigh punctuated the woman's explanation, a finality of despair.

"'A human without regret'..." Malak's tone was curled with disbelief. "That's not possible." Low murmurs of agreement followed this statement.

Mustadio chuckled. "Oh, ye of little faith. You can't just write our friends off just like that! We don't just have humans, we have Worker 8!"

It was quiet for a full minute before the elder Galthana stated rather bluntly, "You're an idiot. What's that thing going to do to break them out of their spell, _dance for them_?"

The deluge of sarcasm, a tsunami in the sea of sardonic responses, only made the mechanic blink at its force. He was used to those kind of responses from Malak. "...No. I just meant, you know, that he could just drag them out of there or something."

"I don't think that'd work," Ramza said slowly. "If what that dragon says is true, then they're already going to be really volatile. Worker 8's strong, but against three elite knights..." he trailed off, the rest of his sentence implicit with his opinion on the relic's fate.

"Then, what can we do?" Beowulf asked, his tone subdued. "Malak is right. We all have our regrets, even if they weren't enough to initially draw us into that godforsaken corridor."

The atmosphere grew oppressive at the hunter's words. Ivalice had become so twisted throughout its decades of war, poverty and political corruption that living without ever having to make a choice over the greater and lesser evils was nothing more than a passing dream. Innocence was left to the children while their parents were forced to do all the wrong things to raise them the right way. Everyone in this group had faced their horrors, had went for the lesser evil. Everyone had survived long enough to regret.

And now, faced with their inability to save their friends, their regrets only grew.

"I'll go."

The sullen despair that had fallen over the group shattered at this crystal chime of audacity. What made this note so pronounced was not because of who said it, for cheerful Mustadio could be expected to say strange things, but in the depth of confidence in his statement.

Ramza was the first to respond, dragging himself almost painfully out of his initial shock. "Mustadio...I don't think..."

"I can do it," the ponytailed mechanic said brightly, a perverted tone to use within the malefic depths of the cavern. "I'll be back with them before you have to set up camp. Trust me."

"Trust you?" Malak shouted, his voice full of indignation. "You're not any different from us! You've made mistakes just like the rest of us!"

"Woah, easy there. Yeah, I'm not perfect, but I honestly don't regret anything in my life."

"Oh, really? What makes you so damned privileged while the rest of us have to suffer for our decisions?"

Helplessly, Mustadio shrugged. He could understand why Malak was so infuriated; the childhood and early adulthood of the Galthana siblings had been nothing short of a tragedy of errors. "Probably because I'm not like you guys," he replied quietly, "with all of your special powers and knighthood statuses and stuff like that. The rest of Ivalice sees Goug as that place where the lowborn play in the dirt, but we've only been touched by the Fifty Year War for maybe a month. Father's still around, and if it weren't for that whole zodiac stone thing I would've never ended up with you all. So...I'm sorry, I guess."

"But Mustadio," Rafa pleaded, "if what you say is true, then what will _you_ be able to do against three elite knights?"

He shook his head at this. This apparently unannounced order to refer to the missing trio only by their titles of rank or their comradeship was really starting to get to him. It was like everyone was going cold. "It's not like they're just 'three elite knights.' They've got names, personalities, all that good stuff. They're Aggie, Melly, and Cid. They're our _friends_."

"So, you're going to get through to them using the power of friendship." Malak deadpanned.

"What's wrong with you?" Mustadio asked, disturbed by the Hell Knight's thinly covered hostility. He knew that Malak had very little patience for him normally, but right now he felt like he was on the other end of his sniping skills.

"Fine," Ramza breathed, as if he were trying to distance himself from his decision as quickly as possible. "Reis will lead you, following the dragon's directions. Get them out and meet us back here, and then we can keep going."

For the barest second, Mustadio wanted to ask if that was really a good idea. This place was actively trying to kill them; Ramza was many things, but he wasn't necessarily reckless. Plus, he didn't believe their lost friends would be up to continuing the exploration. But now was not the time to get into that.

"Thanks, Ramza," he said. "It'll probably be a little tough, but I'll get them out. Even if it's the last thing I do," he laughed after this, his little joke.

It was supposed to be a joke.

-End of prologue-

Mustadio needs to be the hero more often. The title comes from the sects of Catholicism that appeared in medieval Europe and nineteenth century America, noted for the fact that their members practiced receiving penance through self-flagellation and non-fatal crucifixions (no nails, just rope).

Burgross, Bugross, Bugroth: According to one long-dead topic about translating Ivalician letters, the ocean around Lionel and to the south of Gallionne is spelled 'Bugroth' on the world map. In that same topic, it was stated that the name 'Agrias' meant 'explosions, though the language was never stated.

**Chapter 1: Angel**: "I'm sorry, Mustadio, I truly am. You're a great friend, but Izlude won't be happy unless you're dead."


	2. 1: Angel

Penitentes

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

**Chapter 1: Angel**

A man and a woman strolled together, hand-in-hand, on a lovely romp through the Deep Dungeon. If that wasn't romantic enough, a massive adult dragon was somewhere in the vicinity, grunting and growling with every breath just like a true chaperone. There were no enemies around to butt in, and Mustadio was beginning to think that this was really a very pleasant journey. He had taken his gloves off a while ago, and Reis' hand was small and soft in his.

"I'm a little worried," she murmured once they were far away from their group. Mustadio turned his head towards the direction that her voice was coming from.

"Oh yeah? What about?"

"Did you notice something...different with everyone?"

"Um...well, I think so," he answered slowly. He _had_ noticed, but now that he was away from them he started to wonder if it really hadn't been his imagination. "It's probably because we're all stressed," he tried to assure her.

He could hear Reis sigh, and then a soft rustle as her hair brushed back and forth along her back in a rapid motion. "I would like to believe that, but everyone is so strange now. In their words, their mannerisms...they seem darker."

"Yeah, well, it's plenty dark in here," he joked, trying to ease the melancholy from the normally reserved woman. She did laugh, though it was forced.

"I would've thought that Ramza considered us all as his friends."

"You caught that too, huh?" Mustadio said before realizing that he had just admitted to having the same fears. The acknowledgment hung in the dead air between them, crystallizing the quiet desperation they had regarding their friends.

"What do you think could be wrong with them?"

"It could be just being cooped up in this place. I mean, don't get me wrong, I really like some of the guns we're finding down here, but this place is really creepy."

"I agree. The farther we go, the more something's been bothering me. It's a buzzing in my head, and it's becoming louder and louder."

Mustadio shrugged at this. He hadn't felt the same thing. "Maybe it's a headache?"

"No...it's a message I can't decode. But I wonder if everyone else hasn't already figured it out."

"What's that, a message telling them to become more angry and despondent?"

"Maybe..." The dragoner exhaled loudly, forcing the air through her teeth. "Maybe it's the corridor. They might not be regretful enough to be drawn there, but more than suitable enough to hear the message of this place."

"But it's just a place," Mustadio argued. He had faith that really strange things happened all the time, but to believe that the Deep Dungeon was talking to his friends was a wee bit too much of a stretch for him. "I think this place is trying to kill us, sure. But I thought that the corridor was being controlled by something else."

She didn't say anything for a while. The sounds of their boots thudded dully. Nothing ever seemed to echo in the Deep Dungeon other than the death cries of the fallen. "Beowulf is usually rational," she started, "and he prefers not to get into the thick of the battle. He doesn't need to, now that he's remembered all of his magic from his days as a Temple Knight.

"But he's been changing his style the deeper we go. Now he's charging around like Miss Meliadoul, except that Miss Meliadoul has always jumped into the fray of battle. That's her style. _He_ doesn't need to do that, his magic works on everyone."

"I, um, I don't really know about that. I stay even farther away - guns, gotta love them. But..." The mechanic tried his hardest to say something that would comfort his friend, racking his brain like he was tossing aside junk to find that one tool in his father's workshop. "Has he said anything about it?"

"He thinks he's being _brave_," she said, her tone molded around her words like a cast of sadness, though there was a surprising amount of bitterness cracking through. "He's proud of himself now, just because he feels comfortable in the heat of battle. This is a man who regrets all the things he's done for the Church, and now he's happy he can walk up to someone and end their life?" As those words began to sink into both of their minds, she continued in a small voice, "This place is scaring me. I don't know him here."

Mustadio bit his lip. The grief in her last sentences was so palpable, so real and aching that it was like he had been shot with one of his special sniping skills. There was a numbness in his mind, edged with the same growing hysteria_ - what can I do?_ "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice serious and low. "We'll do something about it, I promise. We'll drag them out, you and me and Melly, Aggie and Cid. After what they've gone through, they'll be more than willing to help escape. That's a good idea, right?"

There was a soft exhale, and then, "Thank you."

He smiled. Crisis averted. He thought it was sweet how concerned she was for her lover, especially in this dank and miserable place. It was so nice to not have to hear more talk about continuing to fight on. _Actually_, he mused, _other than Worker 8 and myself, she's the first person who hasn't been screaming for blood...and Worker 8 doesn't really count._ "Hey Reis, why aren't you affected by this place?" he asked casually.

She didn't respond immediately. "Ah...the monsters here aren't affected either," she finally murmured.

"...Oh." Then the full gravity of her words weighed in. "_Oh_. That's pretty handy, having an immunity to this place."

"It isn't a complete immunity." The words were laced with pain, and the mechanic could've smacked himself for what he had just implied.

"Hey, I didn't mean to say it like I thought you were less human or something - "

"I understand. It's fine," she said, but she still sounded troubled. Mustadio bit back a sigh. He never had been good at talking to women - even taken women.

They continued their stroll, but any lingering pleasantness had been drained from it a while ago.

-0-

The corridor was a narrow hallway snuggled within one of the turns of the labyrinth, oddly alit with a faint ice-blue aura. When Mustadio wondered aloud why he hadn't noticed that strange light, Reis had to remind him that the exit out of this area was closer to where they had originally entered; they never had the chance to explore the rest of this section of the Deep Dungeon.

"Well, it's not like we really wanted to," Mustadio muttered in reply, staring into the eerie light. It seemed to be pulsing in time with his own heartbeat, and he had to shake his head to distance himself from those thoughts. "We came down here just because of the treasure. Anything to help save Ramza's sister, right?" He kicked at the nearest wall and heard some loose pebbles scatter onto the ground before he turned to face Reis. The two were close enough to the light that he could see her face, highlighted by the ethereal glow. Her face was drawn, her brows furrowed. "Something wrong?"

Glancing at him, her pensive expression only deepened. "Everything is wrong here," she whispered, barely moving her lips. "I do have a regret...I'm sorry, but I shouldn't accompany you inside." He couldn't help but watch her glance towards the entrance of the corridor, her lips pursed together in one thin line as delicate strands of apprehension lined the corners of her eyes and mouth.

"Are you okay?" Taking a few steps forward, he reached out to her, but she jerked away from his hand, covered once again by his thick work glove.

"I'm fine." The statement was said in an expulsion of air, and by the way she was looking at anything but him he could tell that everything was very much Not Fine. Running her hands through her hair, she gave him something of a reproachful glare. "Don't waste your time with me. Our friends need you right now."

Confused, Mustadio crossed his arms and frowned. Nothing was making sense anymore, not even the woman before him. "It's not a waste of time. I mean, you're my friend too. If I can, I'd like to help."

Her light eyes, the color indistinguishable in the light of the corridor, seemed to soften at his words. "You're such a nice boy," she said in a gentle tone, "but I'll be fine. I'll wait out here for you."

He grinned, relieved that her friendly demeanor had reasserted itself. "Come on, you can't call me a 'boy' when you barely look older than me." Turning away, he faced the mouth of the narrow alleyway and stared deep into the light. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He nodded to himself; he could do this. His arms uncrossed as the stress left his body. "Okay, I'm going."

"Godspeed, Mustadio," Reis whispered, and even though he didn't believe in a master deity he still appreciated her words. Nobody else in their party had thought to grace him with such wishes.

When he entered the corridor he noticed that the light was as warm as a mother's caress, though he had never experienced such a touch. His mother had died while giving birth to him. A sudden prodding of guilt chipped into his heart, just as if he was working away to free an ore from one of the drifts of his hometown. The feeling was acute, painfully so, and he had to stop to compose himself. He had never felt guilty about that fact of his life before; his own father had made it a point to assure him that he should never feel as if her death was his fault, even if it was...

"I don't have time for this," he said loudly. Here, the walls and ceiling were more compressed, and he was able to listen to his own words crash and rebound against the gray stone walls that surrounded him -

_time_

_this_

_i  
_

_don't__have_

and what he heard made him frown. "Way to twist my words around," he grumbled, looking around in a pretense of nonchalance. Involuntarily, he shuddered as he accidently glanced at one of the myriad light sources of the corridor: the crystalized essence of a long dead warrior hovering against the wall. The light of the quintessence was casting a sickly blue sheen on the bones that lay underneath it. Slowly, Mustadio looked from the innocently shimmering crystal to beyond, where more crystals glimmered in the distance. They looked like they had been arranged just so, innumerable essences nicely spaced out from the last and pressed up against the walls, the discarded bodies beneath each one reduced to stripped bones and rags that once constituted clothing.

_How many people have died here?_ Mustadio thought, his throat going dry. _How many people's essences are here, just lighting up this place? Shit...that's scary._

Clenching his hands by his sides, he grimly made his way forward, his resolve renewed by the light of the fallen's essences. They hovered and spun, souls frolicking free of their human shells. Bumps rose along Mustadio's arms even as he tried his damnedest to keep his eyes forward, fear and disgust roiling about in his stomach. All of the Deep Dungeon shared the unusually muggy, stale air, and in the corridor the effect was magnified to the point that sweat began to trickle down his neck. He had the fair skin of the typical Ivalician and his face reddened from the heat and the continued physical exertion, a drinking blush that just wouldn't fade away with sobriety. The rubber soles of his heavy work boots scraped against the mottled gray stone as he continued onwards. As far as he could tell, he was the only living creature surrounded by the imposing walls, but he still kept a hand near the gun resting in his hip holster.

It was a cold comfort.

He continued onward for what seemed like forever, hearing nothing more than his heartbeat pounding desperately in his ears and his steady, plodding steps. A low murmur in the distance caught the attention of his sensitive ears, and he began to walk faster, grateful for the sign of someone else existing in this forsaken corridor. The low murmur became clearly defined words, and the first clear bits of conversation that he picked up made him stop his determined charge.

"You betrayed me. How could you?"

"You don't understand! Izlude, please listen. _Please_."

_Izlude? But he died in Riovanes...I saw his body and everything._ No matter how much he clung to that one bit of knowledge, he couldn't mistake those voices. Meliadoul had an indelicate alto, low and slightly harsh, her Ivalician marked with the very precise, modulated accent of someone educated by the Church. And Izlude sounded much the same, both compared to his sister as well as Mustadio's memories of fighting him at Orbonne, a smidgen lower than a tenor as long as the barely disguised anger trembed through his words.

"Why should I? All you've done is lie to me! Telling me that Father is a demon...how could you say that? How can you even _think_ that? How dare you slander him when you're his favorite!"

"What? Listen...listen to me! At one point in his life Dad loved the both of us equally, but now he's been taken over by Lucavi. He isn't 'Vormav' anymore, he's just a pawn of the devil!"

"Is that what your heretic friends have been telling you? The people you left the Church for? How can you say you're my sister when you've turned away from everything in our lives? How can I trust you when you've joined Ramza and his heretics to destroy Ivalice?"

"That's not...it's not true..."

Mustadio ran towards the voices, not understanding what he was running into but sure that he needed to be there. Meliadoul's last words were so full of anguish that he was hurting for her, just as Izlude's accusing tone disturbed him. It just wasn't right that the same young man who talked about saving Ivalice with such brutal honesty was the same one who now systematically slammed down anything his sister said.

And then the mechanic reached them, and understood.

The corridor was wider here, a welcome escape from the claustrophobic nightmare that comprised its earlier part. Meliadoul knelt directly between the two walls, her back to him and her head tilted up, as if she were trying to find a glimpse of heaven within the bowels of hell. Before her hovered the ghostly image of Izlude, armor and all, distinct despite the wispy grayish-blue lines that formed him. The essences that brought light unto this place bathed the dead Shrine Knight in their unholy glow, casting upon him an aureole the same cold blue of the geomancy technique of summoning demon fire from the common objects of a city.

Having lived in Goug, Mustadio had seen - and had been forced to fight - the many sorts of skeletons and ghosts that haunted Zigolis Swamp. The popular theory was that the monsters that died and had their essences left out for too long turned into such beings. Humans, of course, were too good to have their immortal souls tainted in such a way, and so their essences simply lingered above their mortal shells forever and ever - an uninspired purgatory. Such spiritual ideas were beyond Mustadio's comprehension, but as he gazed upon the image of an opponent he had fought a lifetime ago, he thought that this was what truly happened to the human spirit after death.

The blank, empty sockets that comprised Izlude's eyes focused on him, and the mechanic was sure that his insides were liquefying under that dead gaze. "Well, your friend has arrived," the specter spat in undisguised disgust, "so I suppose you'll be leaving now, just like always. You always were happy to leave me behind."

Meliadoul stood, turned, her eyes widening as she saw Mustadio. "Oh...wh-what're you doing here, Mustadio?" she asked, and if the engineer didn't know any better he would've thought that she sounded wary, almost as if she didn't want him here.

"Well, I'm here to save you," Mustadio said, trying so hard to grin and pretend that Izlude's ghost wasn't scaring him. "We're waiting for you."

"Yes, they're waiting for you," the specter mimicked bitterly.

The look on Meliadoul's face was one of brutal indecision before she turned around, her back once again to Mustadio. "I'm not going," she declared, "not when I've finally found my brother again. I'm not going to leave him alone ever again."

Slowly, Mustadio reached up and tugged at his ponytail, scratching at his nape while he struggled to figure out just what he should do. "Well, uh, Melly, I hate to break it to you but...he's not alive. That's just his spirit."

"You think I don't know that?" she raged, spinning around to face him again, her pretty face twisted and ravaged by her sudden emotional spike. "He was supposed to come back! He wasn't supposed to die so far away from me..." She turned away, her voice cracking under the strain of her fervent words. "He wasn't supposed to die."

"It was your fault," Izlude told his sister, "I could've been prepared, could've been good enough. But with you around, I knew I could never compare. Father would never respect me like he does you. There was no point in trying. That's why I died.

"It's because of you, sister."

"Bullshit!" Mustadio suddenly exploded. He had been overcome by his fear momentarily, but after hearing such hateful, manipulative words his anger quickly reigned over his self-preservation. "Like hell it's her fault! That's your own sister you're blaming! What about your role in your death? I thought you were supposed to be some pure hearted fighter, not a whiny boy who would hurt his own sister - "

"He has every right to hate me!" Meliadoul shouted, her eyes gleaming wet as she completely faced the mechanic. "I failed him in the end! I should've protected him, I should've raised his needs over my own, whatever it took so that he wouldn't have died on the first mission he led!"

The Izlude-specter shook his head in a display of despondency. "Do you see now? This is what you've allied yourself with." He grinned toothlessly. "Stay with me, sister. Promise me. You've ruined me, but I can forgive you if you promise to stay here."

Turning around, her voice was nothing short of adoring as the Divine Knight stared up at the ghost of her brother. "I promise, Izlude. I'll never leave you again."

"Melly..." Mustadio pleaded, taking a step forward. She didn't acknowledge him, and something deep inside of him slunk away at this final rejection.

"So now that you've promised, you must do something for me," the ghost announced brightly. "Kill him, sister. Kill that heretic who thought he could separate us."

As Mustadio stared at the ghost in shock, Meliadoul flinched. "I...is that necessary? Even if he's misguided, he's still my friend."

"I thought so," the shade retorted. "You're just lying to me like always. Your word never was any good, but I couldn't help but fall into that old habit of foolishly believing in you. A heretic means more to you than I ever did."

"No, no, that's not it at all!" She held her hands up in a placating gesture. "Please...if it's what you really want then...alright, I'll do it. Just...don't say that. I want you to trust me." Trembling, Mustadio watched as his friend turned to face him, her expression full of sadness. Without a word, she reached up with her right hand, drawing the heavy Save the Queen from its scabbard. A memory fluttered in his mind's eye, one where she told him what that sword represented to knights in general and her family specifically.

_-I wield my sword only for the right cause. Once I draw it, it's a promise that can never be broken. That's what my holy knighthood is, a duty to keep my word-_

"...Melly?" Mustadio whispered. Every instinct in his body was shrieking at him to RUN! This wasn't how it was supposed to turn out; all he thought he'd have to do was to enter the corridor and collect his friends. There was no clause that stated that his friends would try to inflict grievous injury upon his person or, God forbid, actually attempt to murder him. "You...you don't want to do this," he continued, watching like the captive audience he was as she clenched the hilt of her sword.

Smiling sadly, she said, "I'm sorry, Mustadio, I truly am. You're a great friend, but Izlude won't be happy unless you're dead."

"Hurry up," the ghost muttered irritably.

Meliadoul nodded once, lowering her head so that her hood shadowed her expressive eyes. Fumbling, Mustadio pulled out his gun and pointed it at her, his hands shaking as he aimed it at her head. _It wasn't supposed to happen like this!_ he wailed internally, the muzzle of his gun refusing to steady even as he swallowed several gulps of stale air. Intellectually he knew that, in a battle between a sword and a gun, the gun would always win. This was exacerbated by the Blast Gun he clutched now, the strongest long-distance weapon in existence, capable of hurling down lightning just as well as Ramuh himself. There was no way he could lose.

But intellect never made an exception for emotion.

She charged at him, and all he could do in his panic was dodge as her sword whistled through the air, the blade gleaming in holy anger as it swung towards his chest. Ducking as the next arc of silver flew towards his head, he quickly moved out of melee range, not bothering to aim at her again. He couldn't, even if his life depended on it. "Melly, stop it!" he shouted, hoping that his words could reach any clinging vestiges of reason. "What's the point of this? I don't want to fight you, and if you'd really wanted to kill me you wouldn't be swinging your sword at me." He smiled in relief as she paused, her eyes voicing all the sorrow she couldn't say. "We're good friends, aren't we?"

"...Of course," she replied. "I shouldn't, I know...you're such a good friend, but I'm hearing him here, inside my head...I can't..." Lowering her head, her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably as she whispered in a pitiful tone, "I don't want to do this, but if I don't Izlude will never forgive me...you don't know how much that hurts...he's my only sibling and Dad killed him but to him I'm just as guilty and...ah...my head...s-stop...!"

Mustadio took a step forward, wanting nothing more than to comfort his tormented friend, but a flicker of movement made him pause. Izlude's ghost was quivering, becoming more immaterial as the shade drifted over Meliadoul's body. "You're making this so difficult, sister of mine," he said just as the shape of his body dissipated, becoming nothing more than thick clouds of smoke.

And, as Mustadio watched in horror, the plumes of smoke plunged into Meliadoul's body.

She screamed, throwing her head back, her face describing the pure agony she was going through more than words ever could. Her precious sword clattered to the ground as she clutched at her head, tearing her hood off and raking her golden fingers down her short hair. The shrieks and cries that were shredding through her throat reached a crescendo of pain as black energy as impenetrable as the darkness of the main dungeon surrounded her in a dome that raced out from her, its epicenter. Mustadio barely jumped away from it as he covered his ears in a vain effort to keep her tortured cries from damaging his mind, and he tumbled onto the ground as the black dome began to shrink back into the Divine Knight.

On the outside, she looked no different than usual as she loosely let her hands fall from her head. He watched her warily as she blinked and shook her head, letting the short, dark brown locks scatter and fall around her face. To the mechanic, if it weren't for her darker, differently styled hair and the dress under her surcoat, she might have looked like a replacement for the brother she had lost.

Then she smiled, a cruel smirk that curled one side of her lip in a devilish manner as her eyes glittered with malice, and he knew that his friend was no longer herself.

"My, what a delicious mind. Only one insecurity, but it's more than enough for me." A wince crossed Meliadoul's face before her hand reached under her breastplate and casually yanked out a sparkling piece of jewelry, tossing it aside. Mustadio looked at it, noticing that it was a necklace with the symbol of the Glabados Church, a circle with three points forming an inverted triangle to signify the complete union of God, Ajora and humanity. A chill ran down his spine as he realized the significance of 'Meliadoul' throwing away such a relic.

"Get out of her body," he snarled, standing up and aiming the gun at her head. With a skeptical look, the Divine Knight shook her head in disbelief.

"That's funny. You couldn't shoot her before, what makes you think you can now? Or is this a matter of 'burning down the village in order to save it'?"

Mustadio pursed his lips, acutely aware of a drop of sweat trickling down over his forehead, gathering speed as it rolled down the bridge of his nose. "Get. Out."

"You don't seem to understand," the Divine Knight said, smiling in condescension. "I can't."

"You'd better," he growled, finding stores of courage in himself that he never knew existed.

The Divine Knight knelt down and picked up the discarded sword, handling it almost like she had never touched a sword before. With one hand she swung it back and forth like a pendulum, giggling all the while. "How wonderfully strong! A true goat, stronger than a woman has the right to be...well, except for that cute dragoner." She giggled again, too girlishly to work with the vocal cords of the body. The sound was grating, but Mustadio pushed that aside when he realized what the spirit inside Meliadoul had just alluded to.

"What did you do to Reis?"

"Nothing yet." The answer was cloying, disgusting. "When I can finally harvest these delicious souls, it'll be easy to make that unnatural creature succumb. Even now, I'm working on the friends you left behind." She smiled darkly. "And you can't do a thing about it, _Mustadio_."

Mustadio fired.

With supernatural speed, the Divine Knight twisted away from the storm-filled bullet and dashed at the mechanic, wielding the sword of true duty and honor. He barely dodged the first strike flying towards his neck, and as the silver blade raced towards his face he blocked it with the side of his gun. The clash of enchanted metal against ancient technology was horrendous, and the metallic clap of thunder disoriented Mustadio, who had the misfortune of possessing sensitive hearing. Normally he would've had his earplugs in beforehand, but he hadn't realized how dangerous the excursion could become. He winced and pulled away, stumbling back as his sense of balance was severely compromised from the clash. The Divine Knight continued to press her advantage, with Mustadio awkwardly weaving away from the heavily telegraphed swings. Apparently, the shade did not automatically pick up the skills of its host, which was one thing Mustadio was grateful about.

Swerving and swaying like a drunk, he found himself tripping over his own feet in his desperation to stay alive. The Divine Knight grinned as she held the Save the Queen up, swinging it downward with the force of the guillotine. Scrambling backwards as best as he could, Mustadio nearly screamed in blind terror when the blade smashed against the dense rock of the corridor, right between his legs. Without thinking, he aimed the gun at one of the Divine Knight's legs and fired, striking her with an electric current that rendered her lower limbs numb. A scream ripped from her throat as her head rocked back from the force of the bullet, and Mustadio's eyes widened as he saw the smoke that entered her burst out around her head.

_I get it...psychic shock will force it out!_

Even as he began to preemptively celebrate his discovery, the Divine Knight snarled at him, "Goddammit, you fucking son of a bitch! You can't stop me! The longer I stay in a body, the more it belongs to me!"

Mustadio sniffed in disdain at hearing the vulgarities flow from Meliadoul's mouth. The woman never uttered even the most mild of curses, and he'd witnessed her whapping Malak for daring to use the Lord's name in vain. To hear her now just made him even more willing to do whatever it took to save her. "That's not much of an insult," he muttered, standing up and pointing his gun at her again, "I mean, I don't even have a mom."

"That's right," she agreed, a malicious light alit in her dark eyes. "She's dead because of you."

He paused for just a moment, a buzzing like that of Lionel yellowcoats droning in his mind, before he shook the noise away. In that moment, the Divine Knight raised her sword and screamed, "Demolish weapons with fury! Hellcry Sword!" Hearing those dreaded words, Mustadio did the only thing he could think of.

He threw his gun away.

The cold steel energy created by the Divine Knight's focused aura, her sword the catalyst, surged up from underneath the mechanic, the asymmetrical blade jutting straight through his body. It fairly tingled through his body, painfully ticklish, and he wanted to scream with laughter. When the energy disappeared, he found that his body felt itchy, but other than that he was fine. He exhaled heavily before glancing at the body of his friend. She was livid, the dark flush on her face heightened by the milky glow the light of the essences was giving to her exposed skin. He saw her raising her sword again and quickly backed out of her range, going straight for his gun. Aiming it at her chest, he fired again.

Like all the other magic guns, the Blast Gun was prone to being fickle about the strength of the magic that pulsed through its shots. At this point, he was just hoping for a level one spell, just something to sting her but not injure Meliadoul's body permanently. Instead, the lightning frayed from all directions, with the Divine Knight as its sole trajectory. She screamed as massive amounts of electricity pumped through her nervous system and danced along her gold armor, enhancing the magic to excruciating amounts. This time the smoke jettisoned out of her body and Mustadio, chilled by the intricate lines of misery and torment along her face, shouted, "I fought Izlude, Melly! He's not cruel to his enemies, so why the hell would he be to his only sibling!"

Meliadoul dropped to her knees, so overcome by the pain that she looked as if she were going to crumple right then and there. The menacing cloud of smoke reformed to the image of Izlude, aglow and as angelic-looking as ever, even with the absences of eyes. "Sister?"

Her eyes were transfixed to one spot as she hissed in discomfort. "H-hey, Izlude..." she whispered, her tone affectionate, "what's my name?"

Stunned by the question, Mustadio raised an eyebrow. The ghostly image of Izlude seemed to feel the same way. "Meliadoul?"

She chuckled weakly before she spun around, one hand outstretched. "I cast you out in the name of the Lord! Begone, unholy spirit!" Izlude's image dissipated instantly, leaving nothing more than a cloud of smoke. Wisps of it shrank away as Meliadoul stood, the golden relic shining between two fingers. Finally, the smoke darted down the path, fleeing from the golden knight.

Mustadio was pole-axed. "I, uh...didn't know that those things really had holy power..." he muttered. As an atheist, it shocked him to see that there might have been something to the gibberish the priests spouted, even though the saint himself was corrupt.

"It doesn't. It's just a symbol." Slowly, Meliadoul lowered her hand, but kept facing where the spirit had disappeared. "It's the faith a person has in that image that really matters."

He watched her, but she didn't move from her position. The meaning of her words wasn't lost on him. "That wasn't your brother, just a defiled image. He - Izlude's probably up in, um, heaven. Y'know, just relaxing and stuff." _What do people do in heaven, anyway?_ Mustadio wondered.

"Yeah, I'm sure he is." Bowing her head, she sighed. "I wanted to believe that Izlude was with me again, no matter what he was saying. I mean, you never know how much of what that spirit said was actually true. He could've hated me, or something. That thing was speaking both out here and in my mind, and I was compelled to listen to it. I couldn't not listen.

"But then he wasn't talking to me at all. And just now, I was staring at that revenant...and all my doubts about if I had smothered him and if I had really been a good sister to him were staring right back at me. So," she laughed, forcing the air out of her throat in rhythmic hacks, "I let myself fall into that mindframe. I let that become reality, instead of who he really was."

"But you broke away."

"Thanks to you. Sorry I tried to kill you, by the way."

"Oh, no problem." Shrugging, Mustadio couldn't help but continue to be concerned as Meliadoul continued to kneel on the ground. "So, what _is_ your name?"

Her head lowered even further. "Izlude would call me 'Melia'. He said that it sounded really pretty, so it fit me. The only time he would use my full name was when he was abnormally upset with me."

Struggling to find something cheerful and appropriate to say, Mustadio finally came up with a diamond in a field of mud. "I guess he never really called you by your full first name, right?"

"No, not really..." she breathed. As Mustadio racked his brain for something else to say, anything to fill the stale air, her shoulders began to quake. That was when he decided to do the most appropriate thing he could think of.

He said nothing at all.

-End to Chapter One-

On the record, I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I haven't felt like that in a while, so I'll probably finish this miniseries first before returning to UFC. There's just something really invigorating about the B-class premise of this story, and I hope you all feel the same. Of course, if you do or if you don't, please don't hesitate to tell me!

- By the way, the corridor is in the TIGER section of the DD.

Reviewers!

Trueborn Chaos, I'm happy you liked the Deep Dungeon's story. Backstories are fun! Myself, I always thought that Worker 8 was more round than tall, especially since his uncharged form is a ball. That's kinda useful, actually.   
(At Zirekile Falls)  
Ramza: We need to get down there to get to Araguay Woods, but Worker 8 can't enter water!  
Mustadio: No problem! (takes out the Aquarius stone from Worker 8, who reverts into a ball) Hey, help me push him off this cliff!  
Ramza: ...  
The problem with Worker 8 following Mustadio is a very simple one: Worker 8 regards only Ramza as its master, which can only be Not Good for delicate things like talking down elite knights. Besides, it takes away from the 'Mustadio as the lone hero' motif. So, yeah.

TobyKikami, you really thought the prologue had some creepiness in it? Dude...now I feel proud of myself. Thanks! But yeah, the preview really works, doesn't it?  
Something I wanted to comment on in your last review of UFC: I know the parody you're talking about! My favorite one's the 'Olan recites gothic poetry', or, 'how reading from a book hurts the enemies'. So, are you a poster or lurker at GameFAQs?

gleenthefrog, nice to meet you! Glad you like it, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Cake Dance (that's an awesome name! Is it anything like a rain dance, where instead you dance a mystic ritual for cake, or what?), I'm very happy that the prologue affected you enough to believe the rest of the story will be good.   
I read that 'Agrias' meant 'explosions' in a translation topic on the FFT General board at GameFAQs. Unfortunately, that topic was murdered by some asshat, and a recent reraising of that topic seems to have died as well. I'm not sure of the veracity of that claim, but I do know that the name comes from a type of butterfly from South America.

**Chapter 2: Martyr**: "Goodbye Mustadio, Meliadoul. You were both useful allies and I truly appreciate that. However, if over your dead bodies I can become strong enough to save the princess, then it is a sacrifice I am willing to make."


	3. 2: Martyr

Penitentes

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

**Chapter 2: Martyr**

Out of all the people who followed Ramza, surprisingly few of them considered Mustadio as a good friend. He was on friendly terms with most of them, but there was something about the engineer himself that sometimes rubbed against the others the wrong way. Perhaps it was his blindly cheerful demeanor, or his quick Lionel accent, or his inability to speak while utilizing his mind - something that led to numerous tactless errors. Whatever it was, it also instilled in him a graceless charm, and so he could be forgiven...every once in a while. But he did grate on sensitive nerves weakened by personal problems and the existence of frequent battles.

No one likes the cheerful when they're trying to angst in peace. That's just rude.

When Meliadoul first joined the party, most expected her to be a more severe form of Agrias; that sort of dour, stern personality who held duty and honor to the highest dictates. Her first appearance on the rooftops of Bervenia only exacerbated that belief. Instead, she reacted positively to Mustadio's jokes and showed herself to be a relatively reasonable woman. She explained this away in the succinct manner elite knights were known for: "I intend to live my life happily, even if I've lost everything."

Now, she kept to her word after Mustadio explained to her what he knew. Her eyes were clear as she smiled. "That's very nice. I had no idea you could be such a hero!"

Grinning, the mechanic raised his hands as if he were telling a mass of adoring fans to calm down. "Thank you, thank you. I just do what I have to do, saving beautiful maidens and stuff like that."

"So eloquent," she sighed, making a show of placing one golden hand against her forehead, a swooning, immaculately hooded female knight. "It's too bad I'm too much of a woman for you," she added, grinning mischievously as he gaped at her in simulated shock.

"I can't believe you just said that!" Thoughtfully, he touched his chin with one gloved hand, then he turned to face her with a hopeful smile and asked, "Is that a promise?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Of course."

"Oooh, conceited."

"Confident!" she corrected, a slight grin on her face. "It's so sad that men always have to put down a successful woman. It's either that I'm arrogant, or I'm conceited..."

Mustadio raised an eyebrow in interest. "Who said you were arrogant?"

Her smile dropped, yet her tone remained light as she answered, "It doesn't matter anymore."

The subtle change of mood was not lost on him, and he merely nodded and glanced down the narrowing path. It seemed to go on forever, and he was exhausted from both Ramza's relentless march complete with fights, as well as what he had gone through to save Meliadoul. Yet, he couldn't ask for a break, not when his companion had recovered much of her strength by the time she rose from her mourning. He had some pride, after all.

The Divine Knight had her head turned away when Mustadio looked at her again. "You know," she started softly, staring at one of the many crystals illuminating the corridor, "it doesn't feel right to laugh in a place like this."

"I think it's the best time to laugh," he argued with a smile. "Just because this place is all dank and depressing doesn't mean we gotta be. Back at home, when one of the drifts collapses or mechanical reconstructing doesn't go as planned, we joke up it up. It doesn't mean we're happy, just that we can deal with the situation and move on."

"That's very strange, but I think I can understand. As a knight, I've been taught to suppress my emotions while in the middle of a battle, or while dealing with a sensitive situation." She looked down the path. "That's how all knights learn to deal with their lives."

"...Well, that doesn't sound healthy," he said with a shrug. In his mind's eye, he could see her back on that rooftop in Bervenia, screaming down at them in righteous anger. "Uh...though, it doesn't seem like you followed that very well or anything."

She nodded. "Perhaps that is the folly of being a woman with enough power to fulfill any dreams of revenge."

"What's that mean, women are naturally more violent or something?" Mustadio asked, having little female contact until he joined up with Ramza. "I mean, I don't really know about anything like that, but you had the right to be angry. Just like Wiegraf was all pissed off back at Orbonne..." he trailed off at his memory's insistence to review the moment once again. "Well, actually, he didn't seem that angry. He was just out there on all sorts of things."

"Oh, he had been furious," she clarified. "You did kill his sister, after all."

"_I_ didn't kill his sister." The engineer stared at her, a frown creasing his youthful face. "I didn't even know the guy until he showed up and he and Ramza began sniping at each other."

Meliadoul glanced at him, and she looked more tired than he had realized. "Right, I see. It's still somewhat hard for me to separate what Ramza has done with the rest of the members of his group, including myself. Whether you want to admit it or not, he has committed a lot of acts that are reprehensible to the nation at large, and that we follow him anyway says a lot about ourselves."

"Yeah, that we can see past the illusions and get to the real nuts and bolts of the issue," he replied. "But I get what you're saying. I only joined him to repay his favor and the princess' graciousness, and the next thing I know, I'm fighting some pudgy, bald guy who used to be the cardinal... 'course, to say it that way, he doesn't sound like he was all that different from the way he was before." Mustadio grinned, and after a moment Meliadoul allowed a small, uncomfortable smile to appear. "See, but I don't regret anything I've done, because while it's been pretty rough, maybe it could've been worse because I wasn't there to help. Maybe Ramza and Aggie would've been outnumbered and overpowered during the early parts, and then what would've happened to Ivalice? At the very least, I'm the only one who can go into this place and help you guys."

"That's a very good way of thinking," Meliadoul complimented, "it works very well for you. I think I would like a frame of mind like that. It goes along with one of the Church teachings: 'And ye should not let adversity overcome, for each of us knows the grace of God'."

The corners of his lips quirked up in an automatic smile even though he disagreed with her last statement; being a native of the Lionel region, Church rhetoric was nothing new to him. "Yeah, I guess. All you gotta do is keep on smiling."

-0-

Not long after they began to walk did the floor start to gracefully curve downward and the walls narrowed to the point where the two were forced to walk in a single file line. There were still crystalized essences in abundance to light their way, though lately they had been forced to step over the hovering souls. It would've been so much easier to simply absorb them, using the quintessences to heal Meliadoul's injuries and replenish Mustadio's energy, but they balked at this. Who knew how long these crystals had hovered in the narrow passages of this corridor, spinning silently over the remains of their flesh and bone cages? Who knew what sort of people these souls had belonged to? They could've been saints with essences like the life-giving embrace of a white mage, or villains with souls that scorched the psyche like concentrated acid.

It wasn't worth it to find out. Not when there were still two more friends to fight, and maybe save.

Mustadio took a deep breath. No, they were definitely going to be saved. Everything would work out in the end. He would make sure of that!

"This is very annoying," he could hear Meliadoul mutter as he carefully stepped over another crystal. Turning around, he watched her as she hiked up the skirt of her dress to dangerously unfeminine levels, her golden greaves shining in the light as she raised one leg over the essence. Quickly, she jumped over it before she released her skirt, shaking her head in irritation.

"Well, at least you can move your legs enough to make that jump," Mustadio muttered, his tone rough. Anger, violent and sudden like a summer squall, thrashed within him.

His father couldn't do that. Not anymore. Never again.

He could hear a heavy drone in the distance, inside his mind, invasive and ugly and why was he feeling this way when his father had always been using a cane, always a little stooped over, always...

_Really?_

"What are you talking about?" The Divine Knight's voice cut into the miasma of thoughts that were gunking up his mind. Suddenly, it was as if nothing had ever happened, his mind once again bright and sunny and _his_. "You have those durable pants. I'd say you have more mobility than I do," she insisted, her mouth twisted up in what one would call a pout if it were on anyone else.

He smiled disarmingly, more to comfort himself than to soothe her. "Yeah, but I mean, there's no way Worker 8 would've made that jump. Hell, I don't even think he'd be able to fit in this hall. And, uh, Reis has more skirts and stuff than you do."

Meliadoul smirked. "Though, I would suppose that she could always just be carried over."

"Huh? By who? Me?" The engineer scratched the back of his head. "Um, but Beo wouldn't like that, I'd think."

Sighing loudly, the lady knight's response was to pinch the bridge of her nose with two golden fingers. "Not you," she mumbled. Then she jerked her head to glare at the continuing path, a frown marring her attractive features. "We're close to someone."

"Um, who?" Mustadio stared hard in the same direction, but all he could see were the crystals. "Wait, how can you tell?"

"How can I put this...it feels oppressive. That evil spirit is clouding over the area." She looked away and took a deep breath. "It's that feeling, oily and sticky and..."

"Are you okay?" he asked when she wouldn't continue.

"I'm fine. I just...I fell for that image of Izlude because I wanted to believe, even though it felt this way. It's a complete disgrace to my brother's memory." She smiled, a tight grimace. "But I can see through the illusion now. I still have my faith, and that will see me through. I can do this!"

"Alright Melly!" he cheered, clapping his hands, the sound muffled with the thickness of his work gloves. "Well, let's get to it!" Turning away, he was about to start down the path when she clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"We're not going to just march in there without a plan of some kind, are we?"

"...Um, yeah?"

"Oh." Her expression was one of bemusement when he turned to face her again. "That seems reckless."

He couldn't argue with that. "Really? I mean, that's how I helped you. I'm just running on instincts right now."

"Alright." Releasing him, she nodded in compliance. "There really isn't much you can plan in a completely unfamiliar environment like this one."

As they continued down the slope, studiously avoiding the crystals that hovered before them, an odd feeling began to slosh about in Mustadio's stomach. Meliadoul's warning aside, he wasn't looking forward to another battle with a friend. It sickened him to have to point his gun at his friends, and what was more bothersome was knowing that they were being manipulated, used, and ultimately discarded as shields for the entity that controlled them. _What was the point_, he wondered, _is there even a point? Why would this thing go to such lengths in the first place?_

He wasn't sure he wanted to know. At this point, all he wanted to do was to collect his friends and get the hell out while he still could.

Like the sand dunes of Zeklaus Desert, the slope transistioned onto flat ground with a smoothness that would make the most dedicated mediators jealous. Soon the walls of the corridor began to spread apart, allowing the mechanic and the knight to no longer have to stretch their ligaments out of place just to avoid the essences. It was the width of the entrance to the corridor once again, and Mustadio briefly wondered how Reis was doing. He would've liked to take Meliadoul to the dragoner, but he knew better than to try once he had told the lady knight about what was going on. She didn't remember how she had come to arrive in this place, only that she had heard Izlude call for her. Privately, Mustadio knew that having the pious knight by him might be useful in exorcising that malevolent spirit from their friends.

Besides, he didn't like being alone. He noticed things when he was alone.

The hallway widened to the same proportions it had when he had found Meliadoul, but this time he didn't notice. He was staring straight ahead, his eyes wide in shock as he took in the sight before him. Something heavy was on his shoulder, and he could hear Meliadoul whisper what was probably the beginning of a question, but then she fell silent as well.

Agrias was in front of them, facing them, and yet she failed to notice them. Instead, she was holding her sword, a Defender stolen from Meliadoul at Bervenia, swinging it in methodical strokes in front of her. The dull yellow blade gleamed in the light of the dead as she swung it in a basic downward cleave. Her movements were as mechanical and stiff as Worker 8's, yet Mustadio believed that the robotic relic had more bounce in its steps than the Holy Knight did at the moment. Right leg forward, swing, right leg back, inhale, exhale, repeat. That didn't really bother him, though.

It was who she was with that did.

On either side of the royal knight was a regular female knight, both comprised with the same slate-blue smoke that had formed the image of Izlude. As he took in their features something heavy plummeted into Mustadio's stomach, a feeling quite dissimilar to how he had felt when he had seen the specter imitate Izlude. The Knight Blade had been little more than a one-time opponent to him.

Alicia and Lavian had been _friends_.

They appeared to be twins here, nothing more than wisps of smoke forming a simulacrum of their earthly bodies. There was no way to create the exact shade of Lavian's flame-red hair, just as bright and unquenchable as her lively spirit, or to contrast it with Alicia's ice-blond locks, striking for such a mellow girl. But he could remember them, the color of their hair, and how hospitable they had been to him when he had first joined the group headed to Lionel Castle. In a group where the princess was untouchable, her primary bodyguard suspicious, and the only other male of the group distant, Alicia and Lavian were welcome distractions at a time when all he could do was worry about his father and curse the holy stone that he held.

They had become fast friends, these two lady knights and the engineer, as the party traveled from Zaland to Bariaus Hill, Bariaus Hill to Lionel Castle. Topics from their hometowns to favorite meals to places they had wanted to travel to were discussed in heavy and loud detail to the annoyance of Agrias, who had been shamed to see her knights so lax with someone she didn't have cause to trust. Three days, and he had been truly saddened when the two women were duty bound to stay with their commanding officer and the princess. He had hoped to see them again soon.

But only Agrias had successfully escaped from the cardinal's grasp, and only the princess had been considered useful to the Church.

Mustadio had mourned them, the two knights who were all but forgotten as the stakes increased with the appearance of Lucavi and the war, with the deaths of the country's leaders, with Ramza's sister having been stolen away. He had never forgotten, and now he could see he wasn't the only one. But as he and Meliadoul continued to watch Agrias train, the situation appeared to be very different from Meliadoul's.

"One hundred and twenty-six. Say, Lavi, do you think that Lady Agrias will improve enough at this speed?" That the specter that imitated Alicia had same high, airy voice of the real Alicia made Mustadio frown in disapproval.

"I'm not too sure. One hundred and twenty-seven. It seems unlikely, really. I would've thought that Lady Agrias would've been so incredible by now, but I guess I was wrong." Lavian's image murmured, her tone moderate. The real Lavian had all but worshipped the ground Agrias walked on, and to hear this condemnation disgusted him.

"One hundred and...whoops, Lady Agrias, you should've raised the sword higher," the Alicia-specter giggled. Dully, Agrias followed its advice. "I remember when she would've screamed at us for not executing each swing to perfection, and then she'd assign another hundred strokes. Maybe we should do that to her. She deserves it." The curls of smoke that formed the lady knight's face scrunched in a scowl, giving it the appearance of an angry uribo.

"Yeah, she was always such a bitch," Lavian's image giggled behind its hand, an effect that would've had some meaning had it not been little more than wispy lines glowing in the culmination of the lives of the fallen. "Always acting as if - one hundred and twenty-eight - she was _so_ much better than the rest of us."

"God, I know!" Striding right up into the Holy Knight's personal space, 'Alicia' leaned forward, its lips seductively close to an exposed ear. "But you're no better than the rest of us. You ran away."

'Lavian' did the same to Agrias' other ear, wrapping an immaterial arm around her waist as it did so. "So brave, aren't you? After all you told us. Don't you remember? 'The princess is worth more than our lives.' 'If we don't protect the princess, we're nothing more than failures.'" Ghostly, glowing lips trailed over the cartilage of the ear. "Who's the failure now, Lady Agrias?"

"You left us to die. But no, they wouldn't even let us die quickly. Did you ever think about that, Lady Agrias? Did you even care?"

"We didn't even get a proper burial. They threw our bodies into heavy sacks and dumped us into the sea like we were vagrants. We had families, Lady Agrias. People who would've mourned us."

"But no, Lady Agrias can't die the same way. She can't have her blessed remains disposed of in the same way. She's so special that she can shirk her _duty_, her _honor_ just so she can keep living."

And finally, their voices melded together for the last comment, "You abandoned the princess when she needed you most."

Slowly, Agrias' lips parted. "Keep counting," she whispered, a plea from the hardened Holy Knight.

"Why? You'll never be strong enough to do anything," the specter that mimicked Alicia snapped.

"I'm..." Agrias wet her lips. "I'm going to rescue the princess."

Harsh barks of laughter greeted her words, cruel and mocking. Like a statue, Agrias took it, though Mustadio thought he could see a trace of sadness deep within her brown eyes. The slick sound of a sword being drawn caught his attention, and when he glanced beside him he saw Meliadoul with the naked blade of her Save the Queen exposed and glowing ethereal from the light of nearby crystals. He wasn't sure whether to cheer her on, or stop her from making the situation worse.

"Please, you honestly think you can save anyone? A hopeless heap of flesh like you?" 'Lavian' thrust its head forward through Agrias' head and chest, the smoke obscuring much of the Holy Knight's face while at the same time leaving 'Lavian's' facial features still discernible. "Hey Ali, did I just hear that wrong? After all, being dead's done horrible things with my hearing as well as my complexion!"

"Nope, sorry Lavi. She's just an idiot. But, I guess we can help her, like she never helped us."

"I guess..." Sighing dramatically, the specter that resembled Lavian pulled out and away from Agrias. "You want to be strong, Lady Agrias? Trust me, it doesn't come from waving your sword around like some drunk knight at a brothel. You have to fight real, breathing opponents."

"I mean, _really_. This is basic stuff, you know?" 'Alicia' followed 'Lavian's' move, floating some distance away from the elite knight while gesturing majestically towards Mustadio and Meliadoul. "And look, here's your test! Those people you ditched the princess for, of all things. I guess you'll just go back on your word and follow them around just like before."

Agrias shook her head once. "No. I promised. I'll be stronger to save her."

"That's cute. Keep pretending that duty actually means something to you. Maybe one day it'll actually be true." The form of Alicia began to disperse, drifting above the lady knight as a cloud of smoke. Lavian's image followed the other's lead, the two clouds merging into one, which then proceeded to fly deeper into the corridor.

"Why are they leaving her alone?" Meliadoul muttered. Mustadio could only shake his head, revulsion at seeing his friends used in such a manner bubbling up inside him.

"Who knows," he whispered back before he took a few steps forward, his eyes solely on Agrias' still form. "Hey, Aggie. How're you feeling?" His voice and demeanor were non threatening - though he really couldn't be threatening if he tried - and he held his hands up to show that he came in peace. "We're here to get you away from this place."

"Why? Did you think that I couldn't do it on my own?" The Holy Knight's voice was cold, much colder than usual, and she stared at the engineer with dull eyes. "You don't think I'm strong enough?"

"Hey, I'm the last person who thinks that. I've seen you fight. But hey, we're friends, right? Friends help each other, right?"

Something in Agrias' expression splintered and she raised her sword, the tip leveled at his head even though he was a safe distance away. "I don't need friends."

"Hn. She seems fine to me," Meliadoul muttered, a little louder than before.

Mustadio pursed his lips at this. He'd forgotten that the two elite knights didn't get along. "Melly, shh," he chided quietly before he turned his attention to Agrias once more. "Alright then, so you don't need friends. That's fine, whatever you like. So, what do you need?"

Determination blanketed the delicate structure of the Holy Knight's face as she stared at him. "I need to save the princess from all those who would use her."

"But she's in Zeltennia," he blurted out. "Ramza told us she'd be safe with Delita."

"She'll be used by Delita!" Agrias raged, her voice a few octaves louder. This worried the mechanic, who knew from personal experience that she became quieter when she was angry, not louder. "I've got to become stronger to save her!"

"Oh, I see. And where will you go after that?" Meliadoul asked, taking a step forward. The light from a nearby crystal glimmered along the edge of the knight sword she currently carried parallel to her right leg. "If you kidnap the princess, you'll never be able to stay in Ivalice."

"I could not care less."

Glancing beside him, Mustadio noticed that Meliadoul seemed ill at ease. Then, as if she knew he was watching her, she turned her head away slightly, the side of her hood hiding her face. "Of course you care," the Divine Knight urged, "because while you're a cold person, you're not soulless. How about your family? Family is very important, I would think."

"And you would be wrong. My family no longer means anything to me."

Something of a hiss touched the mechanic's hearing as Meliadoul sucked in a breath suddenly, as if she'd been punched in the gut. His natural optimism for the best of any situation sunk as the former Shrine Knight adjusted her grip on the hilt of her sword. "You should be grateful you still have a family," she ground out, "when so many others have lost theirs."

"It is a distraction," Agrias said hollowly. "If I can't use them to become stronger, then they're useless to me."

"You-!" Taking another step forward, Meliadoul held her sword ready. "'Use'? You're just as horrible as all the schemers who want Ivalice for themselves!"

"I don't care about Ivalice."

"How _dare_ you. My brother's dream was to save Ivalice!"

"And look at how he ended up."

With an inarticulate cry, the Divine Knight dove towards Agrias like a steel hawk before Mustadio could act. Fluidly, the Holy Knight dodged from the first cleaving strike, then brandished her sword. Chunky blue blocks with the same bleak luminescence as the essences crashed down onto Meliadoul, instantly stopping her in mid-swing. Agrias did not admire her handiwork, only walking around the frozen woman so that she could face Mustadio.

For his part, he was surprised and confused. Should he attack her? Was she under the influence of the spirit that haunted this place, or was she working solely under her own power? If it was the former he was more willing to fight her, but if it was the latter... "Aggie? This isn't what you want to do - "

"Do not presume to tell me what I want," she interrupted, her inflection flat. "This is the only thing I can do."

"Why?" he demanded, his hand inching towards his holster.

"Because everything pales in comparison with my duty towards the princess." The answer was matter-of-fact, her tone sardonic as usual. "Perhaps you would understand, since you had to employ certain unethical methods to rescue your father."

The logic confused him. "So I didn't tell you guys about the stone or anything when I joined up. That's not unethical, just kinda impolite. You're talking about killing us!"

"True," she condescended. Then, her expression softened. "Goodbye Mustadio, Meliadoul. You were both useful allies and I truly appreciate that. However, if over your dead bodies I can become strong enough to save the princess, then it is a sacrifice I am willing to make."

"Aggie, stop it! I don't want to fight!" he yelled, his hand on his gun. Yet, he made no move to free it from its holster, hoping against every realistic probability that this friend would free herself or come to her senses or whatever it took to stave off the inevitable fight.

She only blinked, one eyebrow arched up in beautiful disdain. "I don't recall giving you a choice." Brandishing her sword once more, she sent a wave of golden-orange energy racing towards him. Unlike Meliadoul's sword skills, Agrias' skills were weaker but all but impossible to dodge, as Mustadio found out when he attempted to jump out of the Holy Explosion's way. The fiery-colored energy pummeled into his left side, eliciting a cry of pain from him as he stumbled back. His vision became blurry as he fought against the dizziness that beat against his mind in relentless waves. After he closed his eyes and counted to ten he felt less confused.

But when he opened his eyes, she was right in front of him.

Inside the hilt of the Defender was a large gem imbued with protective powers. Along with the wideness of the blade, it served to give the sword rightful claim to its name as a sword that protects. Although that gem's main purpose was magical in nature, Mustadio found out the hard way that it also hurt like a bitch to have that, along with the hilt, slammed into his face. He jerked back, nauseous from the thick waves of agony rolling through him, and saw that she was preparing another attack. Due to the general heaviness of knight swords and her own lack of training with them, Agrias' already ponderous way of attacking was hindered even further, giving Mustadio enough time to implement something of his own.

He ran away.

_I don't want to attack her I don't want to attack her she's my friend dammit dammit dammit!_ As he cursed to himself, a glance back showed him that she was about to send another Holy Explosion hurtling towards him. A glance forward showed him that he was about to hit the wall. Another glance back revealed that the flickering, flame-colored energy was blazing towards him, nipping at his heels. And then there was the wall.

_I haven't done this since I was a kid. C'mon..._

He jumped, twisting his legs up so that he could rebound off the wall. It used to annoy the men who worked the drifts when he did this as an energetic child, and after a while he had grown out of it. Now, he reached out to his inner child - which wasn't all that inner - and bounced off of the wall, stretching his body up as much as possible to avoid the energy that, even now, slammed into the wall and seemed to actually spark upward in a vain attempt to reach him.

Having not done this in over a decade, his body protested at his attempt at flexibility and his left side howled in response. He fell like a rock and grunted as his body collided with the hard rock ground, right against the side he had just sprained. Dazed, he could only roll onto his back and grab his side. That was how he saw the light yellow blade of the Defender as it plunged towards his face. Twisting away at the last second, the ensuing clash of steel on rock shocked him into acting. He sprang up like a frog on haste, yanking out his gun as he spun around, and caught Agrias unawares as he pressed the muzzle against her left temple.

More than just his side hurt now.

The Defender clattered noisily against the ground as it slipped from Agrias' hands. "So, I can't even defeat a mechanic. After all the intensive training I undertook, after earning the right to become an elite knight...and this is what it comes down to." She twisted her head so that she could look him in the eye as she whispered, "Just kill me."

Disgust and grief intertwined and twisted in the pit of his stomach when he heard her request. "I'm not going to kill anyone!" he yelled, twisting his face away so that he didn't have to look at her pleading gaze. Instead he stared at the thick braid she habitually wore, a picture of elegance.

"But it's not worth it to live. Not if I've lost to you," she muttered.

_Geez, I'm not that bad. Didn't realize I was so underestimated_. He sighed. "I'm not going to kill anyone if I don't have to. That's just how I am. What's with all you knights thinking that death is gonna bring about peace and goodwill, anyway?"

"You can't understand," she answered in a haughty tone. "Duty is everything. If I fail in my duty, then I have disgraced myself. To kill is just a means in which I complete my duties."

"That's really sick," Mustadio stated, surprised at how repelled he was by her words. Certainly he could understand, but did that make it right? Was this truly Agrias' belief?

"That is the truth of the world. It is what I've learned throughout our journey. All this time, and I still have not gotten any closer to saving the princess, my ultimate duty."

"But we've been saving Ivalice all this time. Remember Lucavi? They're kinda important too, y'know."

"It's merely a side quest."

He paused, a frown crossing his face at the things he was learning now. A twinge from his injured side made him wince, but he tried to suppress it and continue the dialog. "So nothing really matters next to the princess, that's what you're saying?"

"Of course."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Of course, everyone had their own reasons for joining Ramza's party. Most of them wanted to repay the young Beoulve for his unconditional kindness, like himself. Only a couple were selfish, such as Meliadoul's need to find out the truth behind the zodiac stones she had thought were holy. And then there was Agrias. 

The only reason why she had joined with them was to save the princess. No other.

Confronted with this, the essential Agrias, he couldn't help but feel depressed. All those times he had been friendly to her, tried to joke with her and bring her out of her shell, and now he realized that none of it had mattered to her. That hurt. Still, he tried to forge on. Even if he wasn't her friend, she was his. "Okay, sure. I understand that it's the most important thing to you. That's fine. But, uh...um, the way you're trying to be strong just isn't right."

Her voice was sharp as she asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're talking about physical strength, right? Like, how many people you can slice through and stuff when you go to save the princess? But to say that, you're thinking that death is a strength, and that's not true."

"Explain."

"Sure. Well, I hate to use this as an example, but right now all I have to do is convert a little effort towards my left index finger and you'll be dead." Noticing her narrow her eyes in response, he mentally winced. "Sorry. It's not like I'm going to or anything, I'm just saying. But, just to expend that energy and stuff can't really be considered 'strength' because all I've insured is that you'll be gone and I would've lost my friend.

"Don't get me wrong, I understand that choosing not to kill's a luxury these days. And I totally see why you want to become stronger. But is slaughtering us a proof of your strength? If I had shot you without even trying to go down the harder path of talking to you, would you consider that strength?"

After an intake of air, Agrias looked away from him. "Then, what is strength?"

"Maybe it's letting go," he suggested, earning an icy glare. "Woah, never mind that then. But seriously, I don't think it's obvious physical power. I mean, Melly's greatest strength isn't that she can smack things really hard, but her unwavering faith. And of course, Ramza fights to help others. You know, 'cause he cares so much."

"And yourself?"

Mustadio blinked in surprise. Slowly, a smile broke out across his face. "I don't really know. I mean, it's not something I've thought about. But, um, I guess I like to think that I'm good at understanding both people and machines." He studied her for a long moment, taking in the beauty of her features as all the harshness left her face.

And, with a smile on his face, the mechanic lowered his gun from Agrias' head.

She studied him, her lips twitching in disapproval. Slowly, she bent down and retrieved her sword. "That's a huge risk you just took," she murmured, glancing away from him to focus on the sheen of her sword.

"Well, if I can't take risks on my friends, then what does that say about what I think they're worth?" Mustadio grinned, but he dropped it when the Holy Knight swung her sword so that the point of it passed just under his chin.

"You're a fool," she stated, just before she withdrew and sheathed her sword.

Chuckling nervously, he turned away and walked towards Meliadoul. While he had been talking to Agrias, the Divine Knight had slowly been released from the effect of the Stasis Sword skill until she was freed. Now she ignored everything in favor of rubbing some life in her still stiff limbs. "Hey Melly," he greeted.

"You're trusting her?" she whispered harshly, deliberately looking away from him. Mustadio could only grin.

"I'm a trusting kind of guy."

"Otherwise known as a fool." Gingerly, she stood, waving him away when he tried to help her. "Sir Orlandu's the last one left, right? Let's go."

"Sure." He turned back, where Agrias stood silently, her gaze fixed to some spot on the ground. "Aggie, we've got to get Cid and then we're outta here."

" 'Agrias'," the Holy Knight corrected. She strode to the other two, an elite knight on either side of the engineer, and they all continued into the depths of the corridor.

Even after they left, the haunting glow of the discarded souls lit the place of the second battle. As they spun, something glinted on the ground, in the spot where Agrias' attention had been riveted to.

It was a silver chain with the Glabadosian circle of faith.

-End to Chapter Two-

Dun dun dun... Well, I can't say I felt this chapter as much as the last one, mainly because I'm not familiar with, nor do I like, writing Agrias. Of course, suggestions, questions and comments are always welcome. The better I write, the more entertained you are!

Reviewers!

Viktor Mayin, I remember you. I'm glad you're liking the story. And since you said please, I'll be more than happy to accommodate you. :)

Yo, TobyKikami. I...can't seem to find anything to respond to, but I'm glad you're liking the story.

Hey Evil Mina. I'm really, really happy you're liking this version of Mustadio. Initially, I didn't really care about Mustadio as well, but I was charmed by his game portrait - smirk and all! Plus, his house has great music. Something about those two things made me think that he was a very well-adjusted guy, so that's how I try to portray him. And you would like the 'unlikely hero' motif, I've seen you defend Delita. :)  
Actually - and this is hard to admit - but angst is my default when it comes to writing. And romance and action/adventure are supposed to be the hardest for me to write. Well, those and humor/parody, which is why I can definitely respect your work. Heh, I'm a little jealous.  
If my stories can make you think enough to want to write out such nicely detailed reviews, then I'm doing my job. As for Orlandu...heh.  
Finally, regarding your P.P.S.: Hey, you're not the only one putting off anything to do with UFC. Reviews, like stories, only mean anything when they're written from the heart.

Hello, gleenthefrog! Happy to see you liked the chapter. As for Reis...heh.

Yo, Trueborn Chaos. Since we're both stubborn Taureans, I'll just say that you have a good point about Ramza ordering Worker 8 to follow Mustadio's orders, but...yeah, you're right, this is my story. :) Seriously though, there's a plot reason why Worker 8 must stay with the others.   
Yeah, Beowulf has the second lowest Brave out of all the specials at 45. Reis is a whole lot braver than he is.  
Aw, I like page fillers.  
Agrias gave me a lot of trouble. Bah. Anyway, this story is supposed to have eight parts altogether. So, if all goes well I'll be back to UFC on May tenth.

**Chapter 3: Pariah**: "So, what you're saying is that there's this huge chance that the former commander of the Nanten, the Thundergod Cid himself, the guy who knows _at least_ ten different ways to kill a man is probably possessed by now. Right?

"Woo, this is gonna be _fun_."


	4. 3: Pariah

Penitentes

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

**Chapter 3: Pariah**

Because Mustadio was, in many aspects, a normal young man, he rather liked being in the presence of the two attractive lady knights. Agrias had the elegant, poised sort of beauty only granted to those with noble blood, and the fact that a smile rarely graced her lips only seemed to enhance this impression. And although Meliadoul always kept her hair bound and hidden from sight like a true woman of the faith, she had an expressive face that brightened with her wide smiles...or darkened with the fury of a coming storm at her lightning bursts of temper. Both had strong personalities, beliefs tempered in steel which had clashed over and over since precisely thirteen minutes after the party had left Limberry Castle.

And they clashed now.

He smiled blissfully. As his eyes slid to his right, he caught the tail end of what must've been a vicious tirade from the Divine Knight, judging by the way her gleaming white teeth snapped down on her last word, her lips flattening in an ugly snarl. Quickly he returned his attention ahead of him before she could catch him. That wouldn't do, not right now. After a moment his eyes darted to the left, where the Holy Knight was finishing one of those nasty little comments she was so good at throwing out, her pale lips barely moving before she pursed them into a thin line. There was an odd buzzing in his right ear, and he assumed that Agrias had scored a hit onto Meliadoul's nerves.

_Thanks Dad, these earplugs are awesome_, he thought, knowing that his father hadn't created them for this exact purpose. _But hey, whatever works, right? Though it'd be nice to figure out how to make it so that I could filter out specific things. That'd be real useful once I get back to the drifts, then I could use that 'drilling device' and muffle out that while still being able to hear instructions. Yeah, that'd be great, just like a pair of goggles that tint out the sun after working the morning shift. I hate being blinded! Hm, something's not right..._

He turned to his right and noticed that Meliadoul wasn't there. After turning another ninety degrees he realized that the others had stopped a while back and were now staring at him strangely. "What's going on?" he asked, careful to modulate his pitch appropriately. For some reason he didn't think they'd appreciate his using earplugs to block out their arguments, even though he did it all the time.

_Can you hear us?_ he read from Meliadoul's lips. He smiled and nodded.

"'Course I can."

Agrias turned away, and judging by the way Meliadoul nodded he could tell that the blonde had said something. When the former Shrine Knight began to stalk towards him he grinned, a nervous habit, and asked, "Melly, what're you--" but by then she had grabbed his earlobe and yanked it down to her eye level. Knowing that it was futile to escape, he let her pry out the red rubber 'drop' even though the metal of her gauntleted hand scraped against his ear.

Holding the earplug between two shining fingers, she smiled grimly. "What's this?"

"Um, well, y'know, that's an earplug," he answered, his Lionel dialect blurring his speech as he grew more nervous. She didn't look very happy right now. "An', an' since m'ears have been ringin' an' all, y'know, 'cause of the last fights an' stuff, I kinda use those ta, y'know, soothe m'ears an'...yeah. Y'know what I mean."

While Agrias, who had lived an entire life around those who spoke proper Ivalician, could only utter a, "_What_ did you just say?" in annoyed bewilderment, Meliadoul only arched an eyebrow. Holding out the rubber bead, she let it drop into Mustadio's hands.

"I hope you don't think me stupid enough to believe that...whatever you just said."

"Well, if you didn't know what I said, how can you say you don't believe me?" he asked, vaguely aware of the fact that now he was just being difficult.

Meliadoul rolled her eyes. "Please. I have a younger brother, I know all about the art of the half-truth." Mustadio frowned at her phrasing, and she turned away once she realized what she had just said. "_Had_. Anyway, can you try to focus on the conversation at hand now, please?"

"And take out the other one," Agrias said from behind him, causing him to jump in surprise.

"Woah, I didn't even hear you approach!"

The blonde lady knight raised an eyebrow. "I wonder why." Chagrined, he took out the other earplug and put them in his hip pouch with all the other tools of his trade. "Thank you. Meliadoul and I are having a little disagreement--"

"Look, what you're saying doesn't even match up!" Meliadoul interrupted. "You told Cloud that you were going to find Sir Orlandu and me, but not everyone else? You're the stickler for letting everyone know where you're going and enforcing that on the rest of us, so why this hypocrisy?"

Mustadio tensed from hearing the challenge implicit in the brunette's tone, knowing that Agrias wouldn't back down. Why did they have to discover his earplugs? "I thought that Cloud would tell everyone else. It isn't my fault if he didn't. Plus, I wasn't feeling very well."

"Oh, so it's not your fault because you're feeling out of sorts. It's not your fault because you expected Cloud to tell the others," Meliadoul stated calmly. A second passed. Then two. Then she exploded. "So, not only are you a hypocrite, you're also an out-and-out idiot! Cloud! Cloud of all people! That twit barely remembers his own name, and you would expect him to relay such important information!" Her enraged screams echoed off of the walls, and the engineer closed his eyes and dragged his hands through his tightly bound tail.

"I'm just a little unsettled in this place, and your screeching isn't helping matters," Agrias retorted.

"My..._what_?"

"Okay, okay!" Mustadio raised his hands, blocking the two women from each other and his unguarded body, which had the unfortunate luck of being their buffer from the other. "We're all friends, right? C'mon, let's just calm down and talk about this all nice and rationally, okay?"

"That's what I've said all along," Agrias commented. Red bloomed across Meliadoul's cheeks, darkened by the pallor the haunting light of the corridor was giving her natural skin tone.

"Alright Aggie, since you want to talk so much, you should start," he smiled guilelessly at her before he turned to the other woman and whispered, "Melly, I know you don't like her and that's okay. But if you want to get to the bottom of this, just relax." The Divine Knight nodded once at this, her face carefully bland.

"Alright," the Holy Knight responded, taking a deep breath. "I heard Alicia and Lavian call for me. I asked Cloud to cover for me while I investigated the incident, and the next thing I knew I was where you found me."

Shaking his head, Mustadio tugged at the end of his tail with one hand. "Um...that's all?"

"That's all I wish to discuss."

Doubt marred Meliadoul's carefully constructed mask. "Mustadio, you told me something else. What was it?"

"Uh, was it about Reis?"

"What is this?" Agrias asked.

The engineer snapped his fingers, though the move was clumsy with his thickly gloved fingers. "I remember! Reis said she couldn't remember hearing any of you leaving!"

"So?"

"So, isn't it kind of strange?" Meliadoul queried. "Why wouldn't she remember? The line after her was Beowulf, then Cloud and you. It's pitch black out there. Everyone knows all other senses are magnified with the absence of sight."

"Yeah, I can vouch for that," Mustadio said. "It's like that in the drifts. You can hear the workers talking from another tunnel away."

Shrugging, the former knight of the royal family stared forward. "She's not infallible."

"She's the closest thing we have to it, Aggie."

"Please." There was nothing but disdain in Agrias' voice as she clenched her hands. "She's an untrained, unqualified civilian whom we've depended on too much already. Perhaps she forgot. Perhaps she wasn't listening and just lied to cover it up."

"Always untrusting," Meliadoul murmured, "but that's a good point. Not so much if she lied or not, but that she could've been bothered by something else and wasn't listening."

Mustadio's eyes widened at this. "Bothered? Actually, yeah, that makes sense. She said she was hearing something, like...like a buzzing."

"A buzzing?" Meliadoul's tone bordered on alarm. "That's what it sounded like! It's like a constant drone, over and over, but I could hear Izlude's voice so clearly in my mind."

The mechanic looked over at Agrias, who was nodding to herself. "Yes, yes, that's right. Lavian and Alicia were speaking in my mind, as well as outside of it." With stress making lines underneath her eyes, she stared at Mustadio. "Tell me, did anyone else complain of this?"

"No, I don't think they're even aware, or maybe they're just hiding it. They're all acting weird," he answered.

"And how are you feeling?" Meliadoul asked.

"I..." he started, then paused as a thought flittered through his mind: _Pro'ly best not to worry anyone._ "I'm not feeling bad. This place is creepy and all, but with you guys it's not so bad. No one's talking to me in my mind or anything." _But my thoughts're kinda weird...unfamiliar even_, he kept himself from saying.

His mother, his father...no, that had nothing to do with this place. He was just thinking out, just being overly anxious. That's all it had to be. He wasn't hearing voices he shouldn't be hearing.

No ghosts were talking to him.

_Huh? Ghosts?_ "Hey, something doesn't make sense here," he muttered. "Aggie, why didn't the, uh, specter-thing turn into the princess? Why Lavian and Alicia? After all, even those images were needling you about her."

"That's true. Maybe it can't. Maybe all it can do is imitate the dead." Irritation rippled through Meliadoul's expression as she threw up her hands in disgust. "It's a low-level demon. That's all it is!"

"What do you mean?" Agrias asked, and Mustadio thought he heard distaste in her voice.

"Well, in exorcism demons are placed in levels of power. There's the various specters and skeletons, just your typical undead. The only thing they can do is kill you. Then you have something like this...haunt, which seems to amplify feelings of regret for whatever reason." The Divine Knight looked around, where the crystals hovered all around them. "It probably has to gather essences in order to enhance its power, which only lends credence to how weak it initially was. Then there's demons like those ultima and archiac demons that accompanied Zalbag. And at the very top there's the Lucavi, who can make pacts with humans in order to come to this world."

The engineer nodded. "I get it. It's kinda like Worker 8 and the zodiac stone. So I guess it digs into people, possesses them, then has them kill other people in order to collect its energy. Yeah?"

"Yeah. Truly pathetic."

"I fail to see the point here," Agrias muttered. "Whatever it is doesn't matter, considering that while we've been wasting time discussing this issue, Sir Orlandu has probably become its pawn."

Meliadoul stopped. "That...that could be a possibility. After all, it didn't bother to possess you. It probably only wants the strongest people," she ended with a smirk.

While Agrias' face went completely blank, Mustadio began to feel a vague sense of unreality pulling at him. The idea that the Holy Swordsman could be possessed had never entered his mind, because he had never wanted to think of such a catastrophe occurring. It was one thing to fight Meliadoul or Agrias; they were great warriors, but they did have their flaws. He had worked with them long enough to know that much and use it to his advantage.

Cidolfas Orlandu had no flaws.

_What am I doing here?_ he wondered, glancing back and forth at the two elite knights. _I'm just an engineer. How can they talk about going up against Cid so...calmly?_ "Um, so you really think we'll have to, uh, fight Cid?"

"Seems like that's the trend," Meliadoul answered in a glib tone. She even had a small smile, the leftover of her earlier smirk.

"Well, um..." He didn't want to lose his pride, but he felt it was his duty to adequately state what they were all just about to get into. "So, what you're saying is that there's this huge chance that the former commander of the Nanten, the Thundergod Cid himself, the guy who knows _at least_ ten different ways to kill a man is probably possessed by now. Right?"

The lady knights stared at each other, then back at him. Their expressions clearly labeled their complete understanding of the situation, and what they thought of him for stating it in such a melodramatic way. _Well_, he thought sourly, _it's nice to see them agreeing with each other for once_. Sweeping one hand over his hair, he kept that hand where it stopped at the tie and tried so hard to smile for his friends.

"Woo, this is gonna be _fun_."

-0-

He was alone.

From his vantage point, Mustadio could see the backs of his friends, the elite female knights. He was just a few steps behind them, and yet he felt so far away. But he was good at following directions, and _the plan_ stated that he must be behind them in every way. He was only the support. He was only good for support.

He hated being alone.

The rubber soles of his boots scraped against the ground, and the sharp noise it produced was amplified within the narrow corridor until it was a static wave boring down upon them. It sounded like the contraption his father rebuilt, the meister surmising that it was built to receive sounds, but all it could do now was play an endless stream of noise. It didn't bother him, but Agrias tossed a glare at him before she turned back around. Random noises were not in _the plan_. They could alert the former Nanten commander.

He was just the guy in the back, yet he could get everyone killed by dragging his feet.

Was it ever this bad to be alone? He couldn't say for sure. When he had run away from his home, all he could think about was the fact that he had left his father alone with the Bart Company mercenaries. It killed him to do that. His father was all he had. He hadn't wanted to leave his father alone, not after that time...

_Huh? What? Before the Bart Company...?_

Shaking his head, he tried to focus on his surroundings. Endless gray walls, thick with the luminescent blue sheen cast by the endless amount of souls inhabiting this hallway. He was getting sick of the color blue. Even the empty blackness of the rest of the Deep Dungeon was preferable to this. There was nothing in here worth seeing, there was only sadness and the regrets of his friends being ripped out for some demon's malicious pleasure. Or something. He didn't know what was going on, and he didn't want to know.

Heavy weariness was weighing his arms down. His gun was drawn, pointing at the emptiness between the two lady knights. That was part of _the plan_ as well. Meliadoul and Agrias were as far apart as possible, no mean feat in a place as narrow as this. The Divine Knight was one step forward; she would either break the Holy Swordsman's weapon or become his first victim. If the latter occurred, Agrias would step forward and hope that the Stasis Sword would freeze the knight in place. Either way, Mustadio was to shoot the old man in the arm, and then the leg. After that, they would try to reason with him.

He hated that plan. How could anyone plan to hurt a friend, possessed or not?

There was just no understanding the minds of knights. All they ever seemed to understand was violence. He was different. That was why he was in the back.

Alone.

_Guess I couldn't be the hero forever_, he sighed mentally as he tried to lower his shoulders in an attempt to ease the strain running through his arms. _I'm good in a pinch, but once the real warriors start being themselves again I guess I'm not too useful. That's understandable, I guess. After all, I'm just a mechanic._

But it still hurt.

The path was sloping downwards again, though this time it was less obvious. He glanced at the walls because the ground was boring and he was apt to stare too much at a crystal. It seemed like the damned things were just being shown off, and he hated that. God and heaven notwithstanding, he couldn't help but wonder if the souls had any sort of realization as to their surroundings or what they were being used for. He remembered talking to Beowulf once about the existence of heaven, and now he was happy that he didn't believe in God. Then he'd be like Meliadoul and believe that all these innumerable souls would never reach heaven because they weren't properly buried. He didn't understand why being buried or not would have to do with anything; it wasn't as if the people in question really had a choice in the matter.

Gray and bumpy, the walls weren't much better to stare at. A chill ran down his spine when he realized that the shadows cast by the light made it look as if there were disintegrating faces forever frozen within the walls. They were the faces of those who had been starved beyond recognition, their pallor ashen, befitting for those who had never seen the light of day.

He quickly faced forward and vowed not to look up at the ceiling. The Lucavi were probably etched up there, their maws gaping and dripping with acidic saliva as they stared down and watched as he and his friends passed beneath them...

_Shit, I need to stop this_, he thought while he kept his eyes clenched shut. _Won't do to have me all freaked out before we reach Cid._

As a person trained with guns, he had the sharp eyesight necessary for such a pursuit. Even though he was behind his friends, practically in another world, he still made out the image of a sitting person many paces away. There was a dark cloak draped over the outline of the person, and something gleamed amber in the person's lap.

_Oh, damn._

Suddenly, he didn't want to go through with _the plan_ anymore. It wasn't even worthy of attention. It was just them versus _him_, the most feared man in Ivalice. That was all it came down to.

_But we don't know if he's possessed! Can't we figure that out first?_

The engineer in him understood why, though. That horribly logical side understood that, in the time it took to verify such a thing, they could all be waylaid by some spectacular attack ripping through their bodies like an axe through wet paper.

But all Mustadio wanted to do was to smile and talk with his friends.

_I really hate this_, he thought, the understatement of the year. _He's not my enemy. Nobody is, really. I don't want to do this, but if I don't he'll just be another soulless shell. Dammit..._

He had to be at least eight paces away to hit with accuracy. He was at twelve...

_Meliadoul pulls out her sword from its scabbard on her back. It makes a slick sound, as if it were already anticipating slicing through flesh and sinew._

Eleven.

_Agrias unsheathes her sword with her usual finesse, the wide blade of the Defender almost ludicrous next to her svelte form._

Ten.

_I feel cold, and I don't know why when it's been nothing but muggy ever since we entered this pit. When I get outta here I swear I'm gonna dive into the ocean, though I don't think I'll ever feel clean after all the things I've seen down here._

Nine.

_Cid opens his eyes and stares at us and oh shit I'm still too far away--_

Everyone froze, ice figurines one and all.

The great knight stood, seemingly mindful of his joints as he rose up to his full height. Mighty Excalibur, the legendary sword from a mythical age beyond the Yudora Empire, was in one hand as he stared down at the fools with the drawn weapons and him in their sights. They stared back, although Mustadio would've liked to do anything to break the silence before it broke him. A gunshot, a laugh, _anything_ would suffice.

_Oh no no no he's gonna kill us he's gonna kill us I'm too far away what should I do--_

In a single, fluid motion, the Holy Swordsman sheathed his sword. "So, are we ready to leave?"

Mustadio dropped his gun, and his body soon followed.

-0-

"Nnn..."

"Oh look, our hero is waking up."

"Really, that was quite the act of masculinity you just performed. Surely it will be a feat not soon surpassed."

Mustadio scrunched up his whole face in protest. "Love you too, Aggie. Did Melly just say something too? Heh, I just had this really funny dream-thing. Remind me never to tell it to you." Opening his eyes, he nearly screamed when he picked out Orlandu's face as one of the faces staring down at him.

"Um, Sir Orlandu, could you just leave for a moment?" Meliadoul asked. The man nodded and left Mustadio's peripheral vision. "As for you, you stunning specimen of manhood, if you hadn't fainted dead away like that you would've found out that Sir Orlandu isn't possessed."

"I didn't _faint_," the mechanic grumbled as he tried to sit up, supporting himself with his elbows as he did so, "I passed out. My nerves don't 'preciate a working over like that, y'know."

"Noticed," Agrias said, a rare smile touching up the corners of her lips.

Heaving his upper body up into a sitting position, Mustadio reached up with one hand to rub the back of his head. "Geez, just take potshots at me why don'tcha. I don't mind an' all." He flinched in pain when he discovered a bump and decided to leave it alone, instead turning his attention to the reason why he was in such agony. "Hey Cid, glad to see you're alright, but didja have to surprise us like that?"

"I do apologize," the elder man said with a small smile. "Believe me, there was a time when I couldn't be sure if I would get the better of that malevolent spirit."

"Oh, I see." With a grunt the engineer stood up, then realized that his gun was still on the ground and bent over to retrieve it. "What was your ghost?"

"Balbanes, Ramza's father." The great knight looked so painfully human as he sighed. "Even to this day, I feel I should've noticed what Dycedarg had been doing to him. I had never trusted that man, and yet..."

"Hey, it's okay," Mustadio said, raising his hands up in a placating gesture. "There are things you can't stop, even if you're one of the most powerful men in the country. I mean, that's the same with everyone else. You're still human."

Cidolfas smiled. "Truer words of wisdom could not be spoken."

"Well, I don't know 'bout that," the younger man grinned. "That's just life and how we live it--

_-and if you can't live with what you've done just lie and pretend it never happened rewrite what you know and live in ignorance of your sins_-

and it'd be a great idea to leave, huh?" he finished weakly.

"Great idea," Agrias echoed, already walking away. With an eyebrow raised in interest, Meliadoul followed the younger knight's lead. He walked behind them, and was surprised when Cidolfas matched his pace instead of joining up with the other elite knights.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a bit pale."

Mustadio laughed the concern away. "It's pro'ly the lighting in here. Makes us all look like we're in bad need of sunlight."

Cidolfas chuckled appropriately. "That is true. How are the others doing?"

"Well, they're acting kinda off, to tell the truth."

"Do you think that the spirit has gotten ahold of them?"

"I don't know. It could be that powerful, maybe, but since they weren't really acting like Melly and Aggie when I found them I'm not too sure. Maybe it can't reach too far away from this place."

"Hm, an astute observation." Stroking his beard, Cidolfas glanced down at Mustadio, an action that made the engineer nervous. The two rarely conversed. "I heard from those two about your adventure through this corridor," he revealed.

"Yeah? I was out that long?" Embarrassment hastened the blood flow, causing Mustadio's face to darken. "Geez. Um, sorry. I don't do that, y'know, not usually or anything."

"It's fine. But to continue, I was impressed by your actions. One wouldn't expect a non-warrior to overpower two elite knights."

"I didn't 'overpower' them or anything. That wasn't my intent," the mechanic snapped. Then he felt more embarrassed when he realized what he had just done. "Oh, damn, I'm sorry. It's just, um, I didn't want to fight them I just...well, I just wanted to help my friends."

The Holy Swordsman laughed, a low rumble reminiscent of Mustadio's father's own laughter. "That is quite heroic, if I may say so."

"Nah, not really." A happy blush spread across Mustadio's face as he realized that he was being complimented by this grand figure in Ivalice's recent history. "I'm no hero or anything. I just did what I had to do...'cause, y'know, I wanted to."

"I see. I suppose I would have to agree with one of your sentiments."

"Yeah? Which one?"

"You're no hero."

As Mustadio began to turn, a question on his lips and confusion in his eyes, he felt as if a giant sword was thrusting its entire blade up through his body. A scream began to rip through his throat when it was suddenly silenced. Severely weakened, he could only watch as Meliadoul turned around, her brow creased as her lips parted.

And Agrias was behind her, her sword unsheathed and held with both hands as the hilt crashed against the back of Meliadoul's head.

Meliadoul crumpled to the ground without a word, and the Holy Knight smiled at Mustadio as he futilely tried to shout, to understand, to reason with her. A wicked light gleamed in her eyes as her mouth twisted in a parody of a pleased grin. "I'm no low-level demon," she hissed.

Mustadio wanted to scream, but his voice wasn't working. He wanted to run, but he couldn't move. With a dumbfounded gape on his face he glanced at the Holy Swordsman, who grinned with piercing, evil intent.

_No...no--!_

There was pain, and then there was darkness.

-End of Chapter Three-

This is a shorter chapter, but I've told all I need to. I guess it's predictable, especially if you happened to read the reviewer responses and noticed that I said there were 'eight parts' total to this story. Well, I miscounted. There's only seven parts altogether. Also, this is the first chapter I've finished on my schedule in a long while (Thursday to Saturday for the first draft). It's a monumental event, especially since the last chapter was finished on Monday night...

On a different note, if I decided to hold a fic contest for the FFT section, would anyone be interested in entering?

Reviewers!

Hey, Viktor Mayrin! Slap? Please. When women really want to hurt each other, words tend to be the weapon of choice. But yeah, I can't imagine a team up in the game that would be comfortable fighting Orlandu.

Yo, TobyKikami! I'm glad you liked the Alicia/Lavian explanation. Plotwise, I can't believe that they would've joined Ramza and Mustadio since they were part of the princess' guard, but the game just likes doing weird things like that.

Evil Mina, hello! Well, my reviewer responses are intended to draw out conversation so that I can learn about the kind of people who read my stories and what they like, which helps me to fine-tune my writing. Besides, is it really that bad to actually want to talk:) I'd hate for anyone to think that writing a review is only an obligation.  
I misspoke and said 'defended' when I meant 'sympathetic to'. We're opposites when it comes to anti-heroes and whatnot; I don't care for them, but I have a fondness for the sweet and kind characters like Rosa.  
Heh, I didn't mean that the story was 'respectable' in the common sense of the word, but I can respect that you can write humor. I sure can't, so I'm impressed. My main interest in fanfiction is writing about those characters that no one else writes about...but I guess that's obvious, huh?  
Regarding Agrias...geez, the last time I said I didn't care for a popular character (well, a coupling) I was called 'petty' and was pretty much talked down to. Let's just say that I'm far more interested in other characters for very good reasons. You said that you weren't sure that in-game Agrias would've only joined Ramza's party to save the princess, but that's exactly what happened in the game. She joins at Bariaus Valley for the express reason to save Ovelia from execution. However, since there's that three month space between Ch. 2 and 3, she probably stayed for another reason. Hm...I'm suddenly inspired.  
But I digress. Considering this chapter's revelation, it wasn't as if Agrias was being herself to begin with.

Wow, toastyann! I haven't seen you since WHW! And here I thought I just hadn't written anything else that interested you. Heh, since all I can write are character driven fics, I'd better get the readers to start thinking about the characters in different ways. I'm very, very happy to know that you're liking the story, and I can't wait to see what you've got to say!

Trueborn Chaos, now that's a pagefiller to be proud of. I mean, damn. You should see how long it takes me to respond to the reviews, especially with the reviews of the last chapter.  
I bet Ramza wasn't feeling too good after absorbing Gaffy's crystal. There's a joke I'd use here, but it's notoriously in-joke. I can't imagine the sight of Meliadoul lifting up her dress being too exciting, considering it looks like she wears full armor underneath. Woo, sexy metal-covered legs!  
'Is this going where I think it's going?' Well, I don't know. Where do you think it's going:)  
As an odd zodiac inference, Taurus and Libra are both ruled by the planet Venus, and thusly the two actually act more alike than one would think.  
Thanks for the compliments regarding the fight!  
Agrias, agreeable? The same Agrias who was bitching at Gaffy in the prologue and some of Ch. 2? Never mind if he deserves it or not, she's supposed to hold herself to the professional standards befitting an elite knight. Anyway, moot point.  
Mustadio's okay. He doesn't get the old 'strip and kick' from me.

Blueberry Bagel (that is a very cool name, though I like blueberry muffins more), I'm happy that you're enjoying the story!

Cake Dance, you've returned! Ah, but your power is nothing against my complete inability to eat cake! Yeah, it kind of sucks.  
All of Melly's abilities affect only one square at a time with a midrange reach. She can hit a target with perfect precision, but since she has only human capabilities she can't auto-target a moving weapon when she's committed to her current attack. Plus, Mustadio threw it out of her range so she couldn't reaim at the weapon. Ta-da for fanwanking.  
Definite yea for double reviews! When you say that you're half Piscean, do you mean that you're born on a cusp? Nice reference, too. :)  
Technically, I wasn't counting how many ways Orlandu could kill a person, though he could always just stab them. And yes, they're definitely target practice.

**Interlude: Devil**: "Oh, I did. I broke your paramour, little dragoner, just like the rest of your friends. Their souls are mine. So, what're you going to do about it?"


	5. Interlude: Devil

Penitentes

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

(References to _Within Holy Walls_ and _The Smiling Man_ abound.)

**Interlude: Devil**

It was the glow that was getting to her, Reis decided.

She had always liked the color blue. It was such a peaceful, sedate color, stretching across the sea and sky into eternity. If only she could drift in such a state with Beowulf at her side, but saving her homeland came first. That was something she often had to remind him about; he would've preferred to keep her out of danger, as well as himself. But they knew that danger had a way of finding those who wanted nothing more than to be left alone, and it was with great reluctance that the former Temple Knight agreed to her request.

Now, he could be in danger. All of her friends could be in danger, and all she could do was wait by the corridor with a glow that pulsed like a steady heartbeat.

How long had it been since Mustadio had entered the hall? In this place time seemed to slip away until all that was left was a vague recollection as to when they had entered the Deep Dungeon. That bothered her just as much as the headache nagging at her. It reminded her of the hunters' footsteps crashing through the undergrowth, searching for her, for the legendary Holy Dragon whose hide was both wealth and reputation and they wanted to kill her and _no no no stay away stay_--

Her teeth ripped through her lower lip, drawing blood and mind-clearing pain. While she had been restored to a body like her own a few weeks ago, she still conjured up the images and feelings from her time as a dragon. No one else knew about the surges of panic that flooded through her body. They could never understand, not even Beowulf, although she knew that he would try. Of course he would try. However, she didn't want to tell him about the hunters who chased her, about the hunters she killed just to stay alive. She didn't want to tell him that she often relived the more brutal aspects of the life of a monster, a massive beast that cracked countless spines, tearing through the soft bellies of lesser creatures in order to satiate her hunger.

She didn't want to tell him that she enjoyed it.

A grimace made her lips taut, blood still seeping over her full lower lip. Her tongue swept over it as she glanced at the dragon that still stayed by her. As she understood it, the dragons of the mainland enjoyed her presence because of the way her aura felt to them, nectar and ambrosia both; apparently the sentiment was shared by the dragons of the Deep Dungeon. Another aspect that was shared was the propensity to mock her human nature. _Of course_, she thought as she watched the dragon 'graze' along the ground, _they're not much different than humans in that regard_.

Almost as if it had heard the comment and took offense to it, the dragon raised its head and 'stared' at the dragoner. Its eyes were covered by a thick layer of skin, the typical adaptation towards a life without light. "What is it? I sense no danger," it growled, its voice reminiscent of two cobblestones clashing together. Despite that, it was soothing in every way the haunting glow of the corridor wasn't.

Reis smiled, an automatic gesture. "My unease is not due to an enemy."

"Then, keep it to yourself. It's irritating my senses," it grunted, sounding irritated.

Reis arched an eyebrow at this. This was going into her file of 'things not to tell Beowulf'; he would find it way too funny for her liking. Power over dragons _indeed_.

A chill swept through her body suddenly, causing her to wince in discomfort. All her senses were reaching out, overworking to analyze and record everything that occurred in her radius of attention. Driven to her knees by the force of her senses, she could feel something prickly pinching her skin, a thousand cockroaches meandering over her body. Rounded nails raked over her clothed skin in an attempt to alleviate the itching, to no avail. She bit back a whimper as the drone in her mind exploded into a roar.

_What...what is this?_ she gasped in the depths of her mind. _Stop it! Please! Beowulf!_

The roar was quelled, and there was silence. Shaking, she stood up and dusted off the front of her voluminous skirts. Everything felt right again, and yet...

She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, there was only the overpowering darkness of the rest of the Deep Dungeon. The glow of the corridor was nowhere to be found, and she was loathed to admit that now she missed it. Even the dragon had disappeared, its mental imprint blotted out. She was alone.

"Reis..."

Instinctively, her eyes narrowed. She recognized that voice, didn't she?

"Oh, you don't know how long I've waited for this..."

She spun left, but there was nothing but darkness.

"I'm going to make you mine..."

Right. Still nothing. Goosebumps pimpled along her arms. That voice was too close.

"I'm going to take you..."

Behind!

She twirled around and began to back away, fearfully looking around even though it was pitch black. That voice, that voice...she knew that voice, but she was so muddled that she couldn't place it. All she knew was that it brought up fear and hate within her, exacerbated by the fact that she couldn't see.

And then her back hit something solid.

Hands grabbed her, spun her around. An arm coiled around her waist, pulling her forward until she collided with a body cushioned with heavy clothing. A hand entangled itself in her hair and yanked her head up, and then there were wet lips colliding against hers, cutting off her air supply while a tongue was thrust past her lips. She bit down and blood squirted into her mouth. The grip her attacker had on her slackened and she threw a wild punch, connecting with a loud crack that left her ears ringing. Staggering away, she spat out the foreign blood and hastily wiped at her mouth with the back of a hand before she bothered to look at her attacker.

"You..." she breathed, her eyes wide with shock. "Buremonda..."

He was there in front of her, so clear even in this place of nothingness, wearing the vestments of the high-ranking priest she had known him as. He, the man who had done everything he could to ruin Beowulf out of his obsession with her, finally culminating in the plan that had been guaranteed to get rid of her fiancé.

He, the reason why she had wandered for years as a dragon.

Black blood poured out of his nose, blood he wiped away casually with one pristine white sleeve. Despite his broken nose he was as angelic looking as ever, and even now he was gazing at her in that kind manner that she now knew was a lie. "Yes, my dear Reis, it is me. I have missed you." He smiled beatifically, taking a step forward. "I have come to save you from that boorish knight. Now, surely, you must understand--"

"I hate you!" she exploded, primal rage blazing in her eyes. "You did everything you could to discredit Beowulf! You tried to kill him! It was because of your spell that I..." Trembling in the force of her anger, she brought a hand up to her mouth. "Oh God, I wish I had killed you."

_Wait. Did I just say...?_

For his part, the priest had a wounded look on his face. "My, Reis, look at how that knight has tainted you. Such horrible words. You're not being yourself, you must understand this." With this plea he outstretched a hand to her, which she flinched away from.

"No. Beowulf told me about this...you're dead. You're supposed to be dead." Her righteous anger drained away, leaving only her normal blank expression in its stead. "You're something else."

As if she had completed a magic chant, tiny candlelight flames flared to life around them, rippling out, swerving inward, enveloping them in a circle of light. Yet, the flames were the same color as the light shed from the corridor, and whatever light they did cast affected nothing outside of each bulb of energy. The only thing Reis could see was the image of the impure priest. It smiled condescendingly, frost reflecting in its light blue eyes. "Certainly, but I would not be the only one here who is pretending." It stared at her with hunger in its eyes, and her gaze hardened. "Tell me, dragoner, when you say that you hate me and wish you'd killed me, is that Reis Dular talking, or the dragon?"

Her expression did not change. "That would be me talking. What are you?"

It sighed, shaking its head once. The androgynous features of Verden Buremonda fit well with the cultured arrogance it affected as it clasped its hands in front of its robes and said, "Well now, can't you even pretend you're worthy of your powers and tune into that by yourself?"

Confusion flickered in her eyes at the unfamiliar terminology, but that changed as she peered into the image before her. What she saw caused her to grit her teeth in disgust. "You're the lowest of demons, a soul eater. You can't even reflect living humans, but somehow..." Shaking her head, she lowered her head in an attempt to disassociate herself from the evil seeping from the demon. "You've managed to exist for over a millennia."

"Very good, dragoner. Even though you can only read monsters' auras, we're melding together nicely, aren't we?" It cackled, a grating sound like dry leaves being crushed. "You don't seem to like that. Perhaps you dislike this body? Give me an hour and I'll be happy to shift into something more comforting to you...say, that pathetically loyal lover of yours?"

Shock rammed through her form, and all she could do was stare at the demon with wide eyes. "Excuse me?" she finally asked, fear quivering through her voice. _It can't be true_, she tried to console herself,_ it stinks of evil. That's not exactly grounds for complete trust_.

"Oh, you know. That human you tie yourself to. The knight who's just _so _sorry he killed all those poor heretics to ensure himself a home as far away from the war as possible. Aww, it's so sad."

The mocking tone employed by the demon irritated her, but it was its recital of Beowulf's regret that really caught her attention. It was the truth, a truth that he had revealed only to her. "He's stronger than you are," she whispered.

Laughter, harsh and grating, was her only response for a long time. The demon was doubled over by the force of its glee, every cackle rending through her carefully constructed composure. "Is that a joke, little dragoner?" it finally imitated it had enough air to ask. "A human stronger than me? Everyone fell before my might!"

"No," she breathed. It couldn't be true. She had seen its bloodthirsty effect on her friends, but it couldn't have enough power to overtake all of them. That would require skill in manipulation on a scale she couldn't even begin to imagine.

As she stared down the image it wore, of the priest who had caused so much harm to her life, a pinprick of cold understanding jabbed through her walls of disbelief.

"Oh, I did. I broke your paramour, little dragoner, just like the rest of your friends. Their souls are mine." Sadistically, it grinned as despair washed away the rest of her vaunted composure. "So, what're you going to do about it?"

"I..." _I don't know what to do. This...this isn't in my realm of experience, but can I...I can do something. I'll need some time, and it's already infecting me but...it's arrogant. It loves fear._ Hesitant at first, she lowered her gaze to the floor, her arms wrapping around her slender figure as her breath began to hitch. She could feel its pleasure, thick and suffocating, as it took in the sight of a woman slowly breaking down. "No...I don't believe you...he can't..."

"He really means everything to you, doesn't he," the demon stated as it walked up to her. Lovingly, he caressed her face with the back of his hand, smiling as she cringed away from him. "How pathetic. A creature of your power submitting to a human. Really, it's sad."

She kept her eyes downcast as she concentrated. _That's not the first time I've heard that_, she mused as she tried to probe the surroundings. _I can't read this. Maybe I can destroy its presence, but that won't free the others. But if I destroy its source...that's a bit more difficult._

Something in her smiled at the challenge.

"But you're used to submitting, aren't you?"

Her gaze flickered upward. "What do you mean?"

"Look at yourself, dragoner," it spat, suddenly vibrating with anger, "look at your power rotting away as you play the demure woman for your friends. So quiet, so agreeable. And yet, you want more, don't you? You want them to recognize your strength, but you'll never do a damn thing to that effect."

"It doesn't matter," she said, frowning.

"You know it does. You know that inside of that shell you call a body is enough power to wipe them out. You could be anything, do anything, and look at you." It waved a hand at her image, which resembled to the crease her outward appearance. "A soft woman wrapped up in a pretty package. Nothing more than a present for your lover to unwrap as he wishes, I see."

Her concentration faltered for a moment as the words struck a nerve. "It doesn't matter," she repeated, grinding out the words through bared teeth. "I'm happy this way."

The demon smiled, crudely licking its lips. "I love the taste of a lie. Humans must too, from the way they keep piling them on, trying to convince themselves that what they tell others must be the truth. Even you're more human than I expected, saying you're happy when deep down, you hate how he holds you back, how he expects you to turn your head from the battlefield when all you want to do is to tear through it. You've got dragon's blood in you, and nothing would make you happier than to satiate your bloodlust. You resent him--"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"You resent him--"

"You...don't _know_..."

"You resent him--"

"Shut up!" she screamed, her eyes flaring with the fire that danced in her blood. With her hands clutching her trembling form, she looked like a wild woman trying to hold herself back and barely succeeding. Breathing heavily, she tried to calm herself down, enough to whisper, "You don't understand..."

"Oh, but I do," the demon told her, arching one golden eyebrow. "I know that these days you've begun to realize that love won't help your other cravings. I know that you've been wondering if it wasn't better to stay as a dragon. At least then you were respected as the great dragon no one wants to see in you now." Reaching out with one hand, it grabbed her face, forcing her to stare into its eyes. "I sympathize with you, dragoner. They could never appreciate your true self like I am."

Reis was vaguely aware of a tug in this part of her mind as it expanded outward, but she could only stare into the hypnotic blue of the image's eyes, like the tide bearing down only to slink away for the next rush. "I love him," she heard herself say, "and maybe I'm uncomfortable in this form, sometimes..."

_This isn't right._

"But it's not so bad, really..."

A thumb, soft and gentle, crested over her lips.

"I...don't mind be-being human...for him..."

She could've drowned in the affection in its eyes. "You shouldn't need to 'be' anything. You are only yourself." The thumb pressed against the center of her lips, and she parted them. She felt it rub over her bottom lip, then over the ridge of her bottom teeth. The act was almost like déjà vu, and she had to try to remember why.

_Beowulf._

She bit down, causing blood to ooze into her mouth. However, the demon did not seem bothered by this; in fact, it smiled indulgently as she ground down. "You really have a taste for blood, dear dragoner. Accept me, and I will fulfill your need."

Jerking her head to the side, she tore through its thumb and freed herself. The momentum sent her crashing onto the floor, and she retched when the rancid blood pooled over her tongue and down her throat. Coughing, tears streamed down her face as she tried to banish the taste from her mind.

"Oh dragoner, how I pity you. Is clinging to your humanity so important to you?"

Wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, she stood and faced the demon. "I sacrificed my humanity to save Beowulf," she breathed, wincing at the aftertaste stuck in her mouth, "but he sacrificed years of his life just to find and restore me. Since then I've realized I've always had my humanity."

"Spare your pretty sentiments for someone who cares," it muttered, irritation sparking in its eyes. "You and that weakling human. Why do you struggle against your superior? Even if you've defeated Lucavi." The name of the infamous tribe of zodiac demons was spat from the demon's mouth like it had tasted something foul.

_It hates Lucavi_, Reis realized, though something else had caught most of her attention. _There's another struggling against him? That's probably Mustadio, since he's the most resistant. _Gathering her strength, she pushed outward, testing the strength of the demon's psychic barrier that kept her quintessence from the rest of her body. _Hm, I'd better distract it._ "This is a bit confusing," she murmured.

"What is?"

"According to you, you've overwhelmed most of my friends. But I sense you have different plans for me."

"Astute. About what I'd expect from an amateur. But you're correct; it isn't your soul I want."

Her brow creased. "What would a soul eater want with my body?"

"A bridge. I've always wondered what a dragon's essence would taste like. Surely it must be brimming with power, power that will boost me above the greatest of demons." Something like sheepishness touched upon its face. "But even with over a thousand year's worth of souls to enhance my power, you're rather difficult to penetrate."

She grimaced at its choice of words. "Perhaps that should tell you something," she muttered, looking at one of the countless candlelights flickering in this dark corner of her mind. Its glow was the exact same shade as the illumination pouring out of the demon's corridor, and now she understood that it meant that the hallway was lined with souls.

_Souls...and my soul. I wonder if these lights aren't just for some sort of macabre decoration..._

Laughter raked against her mind. "My, so prudish. Though your memories tell a different story."

Even though she was increasingly aware of the fact that this was literally all in her head, she couldn't help but blush. "I can't tell if you think me a human or a dragon when you comment on my...human aspects."

"Hmph. If you were truly human, you wouldn't be so devoid of mental scenery." Its smile was getting on her nerves. "Even children have more life in their minds than you do." 

The insinuations regarding herself and what had satisfied its hunger irked her. "Everyone's different."

"But no one's like you. As a 'soul eater', as you like to put it, I find that all pure humans have some sort of scenery that reflects their true self. For instance, your paramour had a bustling city scene completely surrounded by jagged rocks." The demon affected a sympathetic tone as it cooed, "Poor baby's been hurt."

The surroundings flashed a deep, angry red, but Reis' expression was blank. "Keep your comments to yourself."

A minute amount of concern creeped into its eyes at the display of controlled fury. "How interesting. Though you're not able to use your power now that I'm blocking you from it, you can still affect your mental surroundings. That is...more than anyone has ever done on power alone."

_It doesn't sense my trying to break out of its cage? That doesn't make sense, unless..._ "Maybe you're not as powerful as you think you are," she said.

"I'm very powerful," it snarled back, the lovely image flickering like the candlelights. "I took care of all your friends, even that foolish boy with the incessantly happy thoughts. And to make up for all the time I wasted on him, I'm going to use his body to kill the rest of his friends, just like the first thing I'm going to do with your body is to drench it with your lover's blood!"

She looked at the demon with doubt in her eyes._ I think I overestimated it, _she thought,_ I thought we were in its barrier, but it's just the rest of my mind. No wonder I couldn't read it. My mind's human enough for it to slip into, but monster enough that it can't do anything unless I open myself to it. I've wasted enough time as is. _With a push, she breached the section of her mind that currently held the demon and herself, calling out to the dragon that had stayed with her._ I would request your help._

_What for?_ she heard the dragon grumble. Connecting herself with the rest of her powers, she read its aura and saw that it was curious.

Smiling to herself, she outlined the plan she had, knowing that a dragon could never refuse her request.

-0-

In the depths of the Deep Dungeon, it was hard for any one monster to hunt for its meal. There were many humans roaming about, but they wandered as nothing more than soulless beings, devoid of anything that would hinder their skill. So, many of the monsters banded together in order to take down one or two humans, but after the kill another battle would erupt, with the victor receiving the winner's share. Considering that the dank den was a repository for everything from tiamats to red dragons, behemoths to vampires, the weaker creatures resorted to feeding from rotting corpses and the more edible equipment.

Today, however, there were enough bodies to feed their scraggly band.

A red panther cautiously pawed at the leg of one of its stationary prey. There was no response, although its sensitive hearing could tell that the prey still had a steady heartbeat. It sniffed at the leg, crinkling its nose at the human stench. It preferred chocobos, but this would have to do. Lowering its head, it bared needle-sharp fangs intended for ripping the flesh right off the bone.

/Warning: Remove yourself at least five meters away from Designate: Master Ramza Beoulve or this unit will be forced to act. Final warning/

The red panther looked up, its ears twitching in response. All it could determine was a low humming noise, but no danger that overtook its hunger. Once again, it lowered its head and prepared to feast.

/Final warning unheeded. Prepare appropriate protocol...activating defense systems/

A harsh whine split the thick air as Worker 8's attack mechanisms began to charge, siphoning the available energy from the zodiac stone inserted into it. Terrified, all the monster could do was to stare at the spot where the sound was coming from, unsure of what exactly was interrupting its meal. The sound reached its crescendo as the steel giant's chest panels flung open and three cannons in an inverted triangular design zoomed out, each with a bulbous energy signature pulsing at the tip of each cannon. Worker 8's main system was dangerously close to overheating before the secondary circuits cut in, ending the energy siphoning drive and converting the absorbed energy into a form that could flow through its weaponry. As it did so, the system that governed the body's main appendages went off-line in order to ensure that the main system would not malfunction from the strain of regulating its energy supply. The converted energy leaked through Worker 8's visor but could not penetrate the darkness, and the glow emitted from the cannons went from pink to white.

As soon as the weapons system recorded that a sufficient amount of energy had been stored, Worker 8's computerized mind deduced that it was now time to fire.

Beams of pure energy lanced through the red panther, obliterating much of its body and leaving the rest of it to fall some distance away in a smoking heap of fur and meat. Due to the extended amount of time that the stone's energy was diverted from the main system to the weapons hardware, many of the circuits momentarily cut out, causing a backlash that rocked the relic's main body. As soon as that occurred the main system took over, restoring all energy levels to their previous amounts. The cannons reentered the torso to begin the cooling process, the panels closing behind them.

The aural sensors detected a footfall approaching its left side, automatically deploying the appropriate analytical instruments to identify the intruder. After cycling through the database of the people who traveled with its master for anyone matching the weight requirement in line with the footstep, an error report was filed and the main system issued a precautionary statement.

/Warning: Remove yourself at least five meters away from this unit. Last warning/

-0-

Once her human form had been returned to her, Reis found that readjusting to human society was a lot of effort. Utensils had to be used when eating a meal, and all meat was cooked. Because her mind had been cloaked in darkness for the duration of her time as a dragon, having it clear and stuffed with memories was overwhelming. But through all that change, she noticed a number of similarities between the ways of humans and monsters. The most pertinent one had to do with power. While humans were versatile enough to be able to use power in order to get more power, monsters were more or less stuck with the way they came out of the egg and continued on the path of their ancestors. Either way was fine with her, though she now had a slight advantage; no one ever suspected her of wielding the powers she had.

Demons were more like humans, she decided.

Dispassionate sepia eyes watched as the demon transformed into the image of an archaic demon

_-stonestonethiscanhelpme...thispresencedisgustingnotsomethinglikeme_-

and she briefly wondered if it chose that guise to mimic the demon who had tried to take the zodiac stone away from her. She couldn't imagine why if it had wanted to affect her, but maybe it was trying to impress her with an image of strength. From what she had read from the demon earlier, its true form was nothing like this. _It must be insecure_, she realized, and the thought made her want to laugh.

"Little dragoner, I suggest you give me the respect I deserve!" it boomed, causing the area they were in to ripple about in thick waves. "I could tear your soul apart in an instant if I wanted!"

Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the massive image and said in a calm voice, "Then do so."

The demon faltered for a moment before a grin stretched across the expanse of its face. "Gladly," it growled, perverse pleasure tainting that single word. It raised its muscled, sinewy arms and the multitude of candlelights flared up in response. They began to move, to spin around the two images, faster and faster until they were a blur that looked like a stationary halo. In a dramatic gesture, the demon raised one arm higher before snapping its claws.

The world exploded.

When Reis reoriented herself, she found herself standing in a giant meadow. It was an overcast day, and although there were trees strewn about here and there, there was nothing but silence. The only point of interest was a river, flowing with clear water. If it weren't for the lack of prey it would've been a dragon's paradise, and she smiled at the sight before taking notice of the other visitor to this part of her mind.

Grunting in revulsion, the demon kicked at the ground, tearing through the grass and soft earth with its talons. Reis flinched. It took no notice as it lumbered to the river, intent on doing as much damage to the landscape as possible on the way. Once it reached the river, it thrust giant claws into the water, sending droplets flying everywhere. She winced, her astral form momentarily loosening before she could right herself. Yet, an ache throbbed within her image, one she could not easily dispel without her plan coming to light.

With a hiss, the soul eater dipped its hands into the water and came up with a sizable amount of water. There was an image in the water, above the water, _of_ the water, one she knew intrinsically because it was a memory. It was from Bariaus Valley a couple days before the party headed to the Deep Dungeon, and in it she and Beowulf were sitting against a tree, cuddling and talking of something other than the events in Murond. She saw herself leaning against him, and she couldn't help but smile just like the memory's Reis as he said one of his ridiculous endearments that was just one of the quirks about him she absolutely loved. He kissed her on the temple, and the image of her felt a ghost of a touch against the side of her head. There were a thousand moments like that particular memory, and each and every one of them were irreplaceable.

"Disgusting," the demon said, and the memory evaporated in its hands.

A storm rolled above them as Reis stared at the demon with wide eyes, horrified. She couldn't feel the memory anymore; it was as if it had never existed. _That memory...it's gone!_ she shrieked, but the words did not come from her image's mouth; they were splattered across the darkening sky in stark white.

It read the words and smiled. "Why yes, it is. After all, I can't have all these bothersome memories cluttering up my new body."

Thunder boomed, lightning struck as fury carved deep lines of hate into a face that no one could call anything less than beautiful. _You..._ The word, including ellipses, appeared tiny in the thundering sky and was colored an ugly black that throbbed with loathing.

"What are you going to do about it, you abhorrence to nature? Yes, you. You will never know what it means to be complete and whole, so you might as well give up." It pointed at her and she was struck by a crawling sensation, like the one that had afflicted her body. She looked down, almost violently sick from the sight of faces bursting out of her astral form, the suffering souls the demon had ripped out of a millennia's worth of victims. They screamed piteously, wailing in misery from the purgatory they had never deserved, and she was becoming one of them--

_No._

Her form rippled, keeping the overall shape while she shone a pure, impenetrable white. The demon had to turn away, blinded by her radiance. Chunks of flesh were torn from its image, though it quickly reformed itself. When the light faded, Reis was herself once again, shimmering with the light of her innate purity. _Did you honestly think that I could be assimilated just because you destroyed one memory?_ she asked, the words appearing in the same golden hue as her hair.

Surrender was never in a demon's vocabulary. "I did because you are weakness personified," it growled, appearing wary but not overtly dangerous. "You have the power to destroy all, and instead you cry out for your lover. I heard you and I knew that you were _weak_."

_Maybe_, she shrugged, the words still golden. _He's the only person I trust, so why wouldn't I call for him? If I'm weak because I depend on another, what does that say about you?_

Celestial blue burst out of the demon, a cold flame its aura. "I am stronger than a dragon who masquerades as a human could ever hope to be."

She smiled, and it was as light and lovely as the blossoming dawn. _Did you have any idea as to the body you tried to possess, soul eater? Within this body flows the blood of the Holy Dragon. Do you understand what this means?_

The area they were in brightened until it was completely white, the demon howling in agony as he was assaulted with a holiness that seared through its meager defenses. The form of the dragoner disappeared, and all she left behind were her parting words.

_I burn through evil._

The holy breath was, by design, a weapon that could not be controlled at the whim of its owner. It was her essence, her true form turned into the material all natural life subsisted on, and to use it offhandedly would be a flagrant offense upon life itself. Therefore, to control it, there had to be an anchor, a similar being that approved of its use in a situation and would grant its own life force as collateral. She had found it in the dragon that had led her and Mustadio to the corridor; though it did not care to involve itself into the affairs of demons and humans, it was intrigued and willing.

Purity rolled through her body, just like the elements did in their respective breaths, cleanly eliminating the presence of the demon. One memory had paid the price to lock the demon so deep into her mind that it wouldn't be able to escape, and she felt the loss even as she faced the entrance of the corridor. But righteous fury was greater than grief, and saving her friends was greater than sadness. Her mouth went dry, a draconic device that had carried over to this body, and she breathed. White mist shot past her lips, raging into the narrow hallway. She was the breath, racing through the corridor, melting anything that had the demon's taint worming inside of it. The essences that lit up the corridor burst before disintegrating, leaving suffocating darkness behind the holy breath's wake as it rippled, swooped down, flew forward, gouging deep wounds into the demon's psyche all the while.

While she was the breath she was also the dragon, the dragon that nourished her revenge as well as the dragon she had once and always been. They didn't care about the destruction they were causing, only that it was needed and therefore it had to be done. She was the dragon, and inside she danced as she expended geysers of power that she had bound within her because she didn't want to alarm anyone. For once she did not have to think about holding back, about their reactions. She simply was.

She was happy.

The dragon's life force suddenly cut out, leaving her disoriented; the remainder of the breath going wild and smashing harmlessly against one of the walls beside the corridor. For a moment she was afraid she had killed the monster, but when she reached out with her senses she found that it was severely weakened and irritated. She touched its bone-thick hide and concentrated, crying out through gritted teeth as she tore out some of her life force and restored the dragon with it.

"That was unnecessary," it growled, pride behind every word. Her only reaction was to sigh. Glancing at the place she was certain was the opening to the corridor, she shook her head in the thick blackness. _I don't think I killed the demon, just most of its energy. The souls that sustained it..._ When she realized what she had just thought, she crumpled to the ground as shock swept over her. _Oh God, all those souls...even if they were being used to give the soul eater energy, I still...destroyed..._

Pressing her face into her knees, she wrapped her arms around her legs and shuddered as she tried to come to terms with what she had just done, that she had enjoyed it. She shivered and an old draconic instinct snapped to life, the muscles around her shoulder blades twitching to cover her body with her wings.

It took her a while to realize that she no longer had wings.

-End to the interlude-

Because I know that not everyone has read WHW or TSM, I tried my best to cool it with digging too much into those stories' canon. However, since I did spend over a year working on those stories, I feel like I have the right to use some of their canon. Moderation is tricky to achieve, but I hope that everyone is comfortable with this part. 

A note to all those interested in the contest: The info's up in my bio now.

An addendum to 'Pariah': Forgot to mention the archaic/ultima demons in Meliadoul's classification. Sorry!

Reviewers!

Trueborn Chaos, it's not brown-nosing because I have no power over you. But I do appreciate the compliment. :)  
Yeah, Melly's wearing full armor. But 'dangerously unfeminine' in whatever period FFT's based in would be like, "I can see your ankles! You must be a whore!" even though cleavage was fine. Yeah, I don't get it.  
Jupiter, huh? Then you should've been a Sagittarius.  
Being pretty has nothing to do with being agreeable. But chivalry's nice.  
No, Cloud's not quite that bad. It's just that his first experiences with the group were of him running full-tilt out of Mustadio's house, muttering incoherently, and having to save his weak ass in the most pathetic battle in the game. Oh, and having to go into a volcano to find his oversized sword so that he could use his limits. I don't think that would make a good first impression.  
Hm, Any Ground refers to not being penalized on rough terrain, while Any Weather only refers to not being penalized for using the wrong magic during a weather condition. Many monsters, including Worker 8, can't stop in water at all, though I'm not sure about crossing over it to dry land.  
And you're right, I _did_ have an evil smirk. But I wrote the Worker 8 part just for you!

Good job, Viktor Mayrin! The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, after all. :) But in all seriousness, that's not really a review, and I could suggest a couple FFT fics with catfights. Serious ones, at that.

Yo, Evil Mina. I was pretty worried that everyone was going to find that whole anticlimax as campy instead as an actual surprise, not to talk of the ending. Nevermind on the 'angst is my default' thing; as long as I can think of it, I can write it. Humor's just more difficult because there's such a thin line between campy and just not funny, so I don't bother. As for your comment regarding Agrias' possession, take another look at 'Angel' and Meliadoul's temporary possession. I thought so many people were going to figure it out as soon as I wrote the last line for 'Martyr', but maybe I just suck.  
I fully believe that reviewing should be a conversation, because it sucks to leave a heartfelt critique and then never knowing if the writer ever cared about your advice.   
I wonder why it's a bad thing to show a character's bad qualities. When 'Martyr' got posted up, I had to brace myself for bad reviews...but then again, this is a small section with no real community for any one character (much). You should see it in Japanese fansites; I came across a fanfic/fanart site all about 'Sister Agu', (because Agrias in kana is Aguriasu). Then again, it could've been worse, like that Wiegraf/Gustav/Golagros yaoi site. Ack, bad thoughts.  
When I read about how you felt about Rosa's Mary-Sue qualities, I was a little worried about writing this chapter because I get the feeling that Reis is seen as a copy in the 'I love Beowulf' aspect of it. It seems like if a female character comes prepackaged with a lover, most people will assume that she's the lesser denominator in the relationship, unless she's carrying a sword, which makes me wonder about the Freudian aspects here. But anyway, I see what you mean though I don't necessarily agree. Then again, I read Catherine Rain's FFIV fanfics before finally finishing the game, so I don't know. And not to be pedantic, but western RPGs frequently don't have FWM archetypes and I can think of many J-RPGs that don't either.  
Right, I'll shut up now.

TobyKikami, thanks for picking out that error. I kept thinking that something wasn't right, but my brain's dead. Glad you're liking it, mistakes aside!

Nice to meet you, Rad the Mediator...I never thought that Rad was a mediator actually. An oracle, but not a mediator. And I like my cliffhanger too!  
Hm, I never once thought of this story as horror, even though everyone else keeps saying it is. Well, this story probably fills more genres than it should.

Hello, gleenthefrog! Glad you're liking it. As you can see, Reis has appeared once again to fulfill her plot obligations, but she will be back!

Hi, Cake Dance! Nope, I can't stand cake, but ice cream cake, on the other hand...  
Fanwanking...eh, it's the only way some people are gonna get any.  
I'm glad that the possession surprises affected you so much! Yep, I'm evil, and I'm having fun!  
Reis and the FS Bag...oh my, there's a good way to completely derail the 'seriousness' of the story. If only I could get away with something like that...

**Chapter 4: Savior**: "No, I didn't...it wasn't my fault! I'm not lying about Mom...I didn't...don't make me remember!"


	6. 4: Savior

Penitentes

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

**Chapter 4: Savior**

When Mustadio woke up, he was five years old again.

Light streamed out of the windows in his room, unhindered by the drawn curtains. He sat up on his bed, one bony shoulder poking out of the collar of his nightshirt as he blinked and looked around. After a moment a sneeze overtook him, and he tried really hard to keep his eyes open while he sneezed because one of the kids down the street had told him it was impossible. But he failed, and so he vowed that next time he would succeed! He sniffed really hard to make the snot go back up his nose, and while he did that he realized that he could kinda sorta smell fresh bread, which then made him realize that he was hungry. So, he jumped off the bed with a flying leap--even though he was told not to do that--and landed with a loud _thump!_ that seemed to rock the whole house.

His parents were going to be sooo angry at him.

For a second a frown creased Mustadio's face, but he didn't know why because he didn't hurt himself like everyone said he would. Instead he tried to look very sheepish and bashful as he heard the footsteps stomp towards his room. The door swung open, revealing a rather perturbed young woman. She crossed her arms, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders at the movement. "Mustadio Bunanza! How many times have I told you not to jump off your bed?"

"Ahhh..." A look of deep thought crossed the boy's face before he rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "I dunno. A lot?"

"Very good," she said as she walked towards him. "Now, did it ever occur to you that means you don't jump off your bed?"

"Ummm...maybe?"

Crouching before him, the woman seemed almost resigned as she said quietly, "It's dangerous to jump around like that. You could break your leg. You don't want to break your leg, do you? That means you wouldn't be able to walk."

"So, like, um...that means you and Dad would carry me around like when I was a kid, right?"

"You're still a kid. And no, that means you'd have to have to stay in bed all day."

"...So like, that's a bad thing, right?"

She threw up her arms and stood up, raking one hand through her shoulder-length hair. "Wonderful, my child's a genius," she huffed.

Mustadio studied the woman before him. Lean and of average height, she wore the dark, durable clothes of a drift worker. Her pants were tucked into black rubber boots, the footwear of choice for those who worked in the submerged drifts. Pulling a strand of his chin-length hair, he compared its bright color with hers. To his eyes, they were identical. "Mommy?" he called

She glanced at him; noticing his somber look, she knelt down once again. "What is it, Musty?" With one gloved hand she patted down the lock that curled from his head.

_Musty?_ His mind at this age understood the affectionate diminutive for what it was, but somehow it was both so right and so...not good? that the woman called him that. He had the feeling that it would be too hard to try to understand why, so instead he smiled and let himself feel his way through the situation. "Do you really think I'm a genius?"

Smiling, she took on a beauty that transcended her work clothes and disheveled hair. "Of course. After all, you're my son, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he agreed with a grin. A thought occurred to him as she stood up. "But I'm also Daddy's son too, right?"

Before she turned to leave, Mustadio saw the barest glimmer of a smirk on his mother's face. "Well, I suppose he does deserve some credit. Come on, child, you need to get some breakfast in you before Mommy and Daddy go to work." He followed obediently as they left his room, maneuvering through the narrow hallway lined with the guts of a mechanical beast or three. The smell of oil and metal was as strong as the scent of freshly baked bread, and the two distinct aromas melded together to form something not unpleasant to the young boy.

The first thing Mustadio noticed when he entered the small kitchen was his father sitting at the meal table, working with nimble fingers on a palm-sized bit of machinery. The up-and-coming meister held it against his chest as he worked, because the one rule of the house concerning such activities was 'don't mess up the tablecloth or else!' The boy smiled as he recalled some half-foggy memory about a time when Besrodio broke the rule, but he couldn't remember the actual punishment. It was water off a mind flayer's back as the young boy ran up to his father. "Daddy! Mommy said I was a genius!"

Besrodio chuckled as he set the object he'd been working on onto his lap, abandoning his project in favor of patting his son on the head, smearing oil on the boy's cheek by accident. "Is that so? And here I thought she was going to tell you not to jump off your bed."

"I did," she said, carrying a plate of fresh pan bread to the table. Mustadio watched as she set down the bread before she glanced at him, but when he smiled at her she didn't smile back. Instead, she pulled out a handkerchief from one of the pockets of her uniform. "Besrodio, look what you've done! You've smeared oil all over his face!" The boy couldn't help but pout as she began to roughly wipe his cheek with the coarse cloth.

"Oh, that's no problem. He's a Bunanza, he's supposed to be caked in oil."

"Yeah!" Mustadio cheered, mostly because she had stopped scouring his face. "I'm supposed to be an oil cake!" His parents laughed and he was happy. Making people happy was a Good Thing.

After breakfast, the family left their small house in favor of work and school, the latter which consisted of a volunteering meister and a shack next to the drift foreman's building. The young boy happily walked in the middle of his parents, the central link who kept things light with his cheerful words and exuberant personality. He loved his parents' attention and strove to keep it centered on him.

"Besrodio!"

Mustadio peeked around his father's legs at the approaching man, who he vaguely recognized as a friend of his father's. Besrodio let go of his hand to turn and talk to the newcomer. Put out by this act of abandonment, Mustadio tried to go to his father, but he was pulled back. "Now now, let your daddy talk. It isn't nice to interrupt," his mother said.

"But Mommy--"

"No 'buts'," she scolded, and suddenly Mustadio was very, very sad. Even though he tried to make people happy like a good boy, he was still scolded like he was bad. That wasn't fair. That wasn't _nice_. "And don't give me that look," she added, so he pouted even harder and inflated his cheeks so he'd look intimidating, just like how a chocobo would flap its wings before attacking. Instead, his mother laughed and ruffled his hair and that just made him angry because she wasn't taking him seriously. _Parents are meanies_, he thought, just as his mother noticed a friend and waved her over. The two women began talking, pecking away at what was left of the boy's good mood. _An' I'm a good boy but no one cares 'cause they're mean._

He'd show them. He wrenched his hand from his mother's grasp and took off. The cries and shouts from his parents drifted behind him as he sprinted through the wide street, dodging around the foot traffic with a tenacity only possessed by little kids. Goug was dotted with entrances to the drifts, glorified catacombs filled with ancient technology. Mustadio found himself at the entrance of one such drift moments later, a gaping maw fortified with wood supports that creaked ominously under the weight of solidified mud. It defined the term 'safety hazard', and it had a sign set up in front of it. He hadn't learned how to read letters yet, but that was okay because all drifts were given numbers to label their existence. With a little time he could puzzle his way through the meaning of the symbols written in dull red paint, and it helped that they were the same symbol: two curvy threes.

Drift 33.

A dull throb began in his head. Something was wrong here.

"Mustadio! Come back here _right now_!"

Too late did the young boy realize that what he had done was a Very Bad Thing. Now his parents were angry and running up to him and now they were going to be super big meanies and all he had wanted was a little attention but not this kind of attention! He didn't want to see their unhappy faces, so he did the only thing he could do: he dove into the abandoned drift.

Unlike the other drifts this one had no lighting whatsoever, and the boy ran into a wall after a minute of running. Groping around, he stifled his need to cry and tried to find a place to hide until his parents' anger melted away to something that didn't result in him getting a spanking. He found a crawl space a moment later, and he wiggled inside and kept worming his way through until he popped out into a lighted area after some time. Coughing from all the dust and dirt he had inhaled, he attempted to walk but lost his balance as a loud roar echoed off the walls. A miniature earthquake rumbled through the area, scaring the boy into believing that the ceiling was coming down on his head. Screaming when some loosened dirt pebbled onto his head and down his shirt, he sprinted through the drift until he caught sight of sunlight streaming through an exit. Jumping into the light, everything was better again. As he tried to catch his breath he realized that the right thing to do was to face his inevitable spanking like a man--a very, very young man.

It was when he first lifted his head that he had an inkling that something had gone horribly wrong. People were running through the streets, heading towards one location. He followed them, trying as hard as he could not to get stampeded. With his small frame and even smaller height, he managed to squeeze through the mounds of human flesh until he was near the front, and then he pushed through the last line of defense.

The first thing he saw was the masses of drift workers frantically shoveling away the closed jaw of the collapsed drift. His father was lying in front of the dirt, one leg exposed and bleeding, the other one surrounded by dirt. Blood pooled around the man's head. There was a white mage as well, her lips moving as a green glow sparked from an outstretched hand.

His mother was nowhere to be found.

All around the boy people were talking, their words a drone that he couldn't stop hearing. He covered his ears, but they kept talking and talking. Even when he curled up in a ball, they wouldn't stop talking.

"That poor man. I heard his son ran in there, and his wife chased right after. He was lucky to have only one leg buried."

"Losing a wife and a son in one day...it's a tragedy."

"Bunanza, isn't he? One of the youngest meisters of the machinist society. A shame. May God grant mercy on his soul."

"Indeed."

"No..." Mustadio rasped, his voice now matching that of his adult self. "That's not right..." Even as he said this, his thoughts overruled his voice.

_That day, I lost my mom...I lost my faith._

"It isn't..."

_Dad can't walk five steps without his cane. He's only in his early forties, and yet he gets around like the old-timers to the drifts do. They worked the drifts for thirty, forty years, but Dad didn't even get the chance to stay for that long._

"I...I swear this didn't happen. It couldn't have...I wasn't that great of a kid, but still...I didn't..."

_I caused my mom's death, but not in the way I claim I did. I just didn't want to remember it that way..._

"No, I didn't...it wasn't my fault! I'm not lying about Mom...I didn't...don't make me remember!"

_I just hide behind a smile..._

He was cold. Ice slapped his skin, his soul, marking intricate patterns just like the whirling steps of the ice guardian. Shiva danced, and he shivered in her wake. It was so wrong, everything was so wrong, but all he could do was to curl up in the fetal position and try desperately not to believe himself. But he was so persuasive, and it took too much energy to break away, to rise up, to stand strong in the face of...in the face of...

_The truth?_

"No."

_What is the truth?_

Breathing in, breathing out, that most essential act of life left him winded. Not that he had an answer, he just liked to talk. Talking meant he could understand, he could share and get people to share. But there were no words for him.

_Is there a truth?_

He didn't know. Not anymore. Maybe.

_If there is no truth, then why struggle?_

He didn't know, though it felt as if he should. The cold was sapping him, numbing him, making him feel as if he was not himself anymore. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There was something wrong, something intrinsically Not Right with the memory that infected him. Her. Numbers.

Yes. That was it.

Light poured onto him, warming the chill that had pierced his soul. It was the light of realization, the light of truth. With it, he could destroy the presence that had buried itself into him. He could free himself from the evil forever. Purity was a vicious weapon in the right hands. In this moment, he could destroy just as easily as any elite knight.

Instead, he smiled.

-0-

At fourteen years of age, Mustadio Bunanza was a boy with the lean muscle tone of a drift worker, though with his baggy clothes he was apt to look scrawny. His normal gait was comical, though how much of that was him trying to get used to his rapid height growth as opposed to him just trying to get a laugh was unknown to all but himself. However, right now he walked like a normal boy as he stumbled through the junk piled in the narrow hallway, where he already had a disadvantage without the added effect of it being nighttime. In the front room he could hear his father mumbling as a loud clang sounded. He stifled a smile as he picked out some interesting curses, because by then he had reached the room. The only lights in the room were centered on Besrodio's latest project, a giant box with a large glass screen taking up most of the space on one side. His father sat in front of it, delicately trying to pry out its inner workings. "Hey Dad, need any help?" he asked as he approached the man's chair.

"No, this thing's useless. I'm going to salvage it for parts," Besrodio muttered without looking up. "Don't you have the morning shift tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I do. I just kinda wanted to talk to you for a moment," Mustadio replied, sighing inwardly as he realized what he had just said. _Damn, guess I'm gonna have to go through with it._

The meister turned to face him, and Mustadio was struck by how his father's gaze seemed to go right through him. "Yes?" his father prompted after a moment of silence.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I was, uh, I've been thinking lately, y'know, down in the drifts when it's just me digging something out and there's no one to talk to..." In the light of the lanterns, the young man saw that he was wearing down his father's patience, so he hastened to get to the point. "Okay, okay, I mean...like, what did Mom look like?"

Though Besrodio never seemed to be surprised anymore, considering all the stunts his son had pulled and would probably continue to pull, the question affected him. He looked down at the exposed guts of the machine he'd been working on. "Well," he started, closing his eyes, "that's sudden. Something wrong?"

Mustadio frowned at the response. "Nah, nothing's wrong, unless there's something wrong with me wanting to know and all. I mean, you got to see her and stuff, and I..." He half-turned away, his shoulders sagging when he realized that maybe he was going too fast with this subject. It wasn't exactly a dinnertime topic. "Ah, sorry. I guess I'm just too curious and stuff."

"No, no, you have every right to know." Besrodio sat up in his chair, and his son could see the glimmer of pain in his eyes as he twisted his hip too far in order to face the boy. "You should've had the chance to be raised by your mother."

"It's not like you did a bad job of it or anything," the young drift worker retorted. His father raised an eyebrow.

"That isn't pertinent. Now, what would you like to know?"

"Um...how'd she look? Was she pretty, or what?"

"I don't know how to describe her. She wasn't the most beautiful woman in the world, but she was very pretty."

"Um...do I look more like her, or you?"

"Like her, I suppose."

"Oh." Mustadio thought he had so many questions to ask his father, but now that he was actually asking them there didn't seem to be very many after all. They just dwindled away as he continued to look at the man before him. "That's...great. Um, I guess that's it. Thanks, Dad."

"It's nothing. Get some sleep, alright?"

He tried to look like he wasn't fleeing, but he could feel his father's eyes on him as he disappeared into the hallway. At his age, he thought he had all the answers; now, he realized that he didn't even have all the questions.

The next morning, he rolled out of bed as the first fingers of dawn stealthily worked at his window. Stretching in ridiculous poses, he managed to hop over to his door and jerk it open, stubbing a toe in the process. As he fell to the floor and began massaging his injured toe, he noticed a piece of drafting paper just outside his door. He picked it up with one hand and glanced at it. It appeared to be a drawing, but he couldn't see it too well. He gingerly walked to his window, where more light was stealing in, and looked at the picture again.

It consisted of messily applied lines, a series of broad strokes and thin scratches, not at all precise like the meister's usual diagrams. Yet somehow it still formed the image of a woman, her distinct characteristics well detailed. She had shoulder-length hair parted in the middle, large eyes and a wide smile. Her figure was hidden with the bulky clothes she wore, and big boots covered her pants from the knee down. She didn't wear gloves in the picture, her fingers long as one hand tried to sweep back her hair, much of her other arm hidden behind her back. It was a cute pose for a cute woman, and yet he felt nothing.

_I mean, I should feel something, right? It's the image of my mom. I'm never gonna know her beyond this picture and Dad's words. She died because I was born, so I have to feel something...right?_

But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't make himself feel anything for the picture of his mother. He didn't know enough about her to really care, and it was that knowledge that stung the most. But as he continued to look at the picture, a smile crept onto his face. Her smile, so wide and cheerful, was infectious. Even just to see a drawing of it made him feel happy.

And maybe that was all he needed to feel.

The light from the window swallowed up the room, leaving the adult Mustadio standing in the middle of endless white with the picture still in his hands. "And that's the truth," he said, his old energy surging back into his voice. "Your illusion's good, but you messed up. I've got the truth on my side." For a few moments he waited, looking around curiously. "So, uh, aren't you supposed to pop up now or something?"

"Let go."

The words chilled him, especially when he realized they had come from the picture. He let it drift down until it touched the light, where it then burned to a crisp. Thick, acrid clouds of black smoke rose, reforming into the image of the woman in the picture. But where there had been a sunny smile on her face there was now an ugly scowl. Mustadio wasn't feeling that great himself as he glared at the perverted image of his mother. "You know, that's _really_ sick. I didn't get to know her or anything, but that's seriously messed up."

"Spare me your whiny complaints," the demon growled as it stormed up to the young man. Panicking, he held up his arms in front of his face, but the demon grabbed his wrists with a bone-crunching strength that belied the slim woman's image and wrenched them away from his face. "How were you able to break my illusion? How!" It flung him away, and he landed some distance away with a thud.

With some pain, Mustadio sat up, his innate friendliness masked by disgust. "Trust me, you aren't as smart as you think you are. Drift 33 didn't exist by the time I was born. Dad worked there when he was my age with some guy named Fezol, but stuff happened and the drift got closed down. That's when he met Mom and decided to settle down and go into research. Plus, his leg got wrecked by then anyway." He stood up and brushed down his knees. "Think whatever you want about me, but I do notice things."

The demon said nothing for a long while, hatred marring the image's pretty features. "I'd figured that you would've accepted a false memory. In over a thousand years I have never had the displeasure of trying to consume a soul without regret. You know yourself almost too well."

"What?"

"I much prefer to take a warrior's soul. Knights, magicians, all those fighters have such delicious souls and no mental defenses whatsoever." A tight-lipped smile appeared on the demon's face. "All they know is how to hide their emotions. Nothing else matters to them but the fight." The words were familiar to the engineer, but he wasn't sure why.

_-As a knight, I've been taught to suppress my emotions while in the middle of a battle, or while dealing with a sensitive situation. That's how all knights learn to deal with their lives_-

"Melly," he whispered. When he glanced at the demon, he had to suppress a shudder at the grin it was displaying, a monster's bared fangs ready to rip and tear superimposed on his mother's pretty face.

"That woman was a bit harder than most," the demon casually said. "Faith gives me indigestion, you understand. But even the strongest faith can crumble easily."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she was rather surprised to see her father. I must admit that she broke apart in a most satisfying manner."

Mustadio waved a hand in defiance, distrust plain on his face. "Nuh-uh. See, we figured you weren't strong enough to mimic living people. Let's try that again, shall we?"

The demon's eyes flared bright gold before it calmed down. "Vormav Tingel's body may be alive, but a Lucavi owns that body now. His soul died a long time ago." Like a crack on ice, a smile broke through the image's face. "You're not the only one with truth on their side."

"Oh?" The mechanic ran a hand over his hair, pulling at the tail of hair as anxiety coursed through him. "What about Aggie? How long have you been possessing her?"

"Ever since I lured her into my dwelling." The crack widened. "She was easy."

"What about that thing with Lavian and Alicia? If she was already possessed by then, why go through with that whole thing?"

"Because it was a fun little farce." It pointed at him, wicked pleasure lining its face. "And you fell for it. You believed that she was so damn simple-minded. Is that what you think of your friends? Really, that's so sad."

"Yeah, it was pretty stupid of me to believe." Mustadio shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. "But I thought that, as long as she was okay, it's all good. I'm not gonna intrude on her beliefs or anything like that." _But I can't believe I got suckered like that_, he thought to himself as he kicked at the ground. "What about Cid?"

"A lie. I am a demon, after all."

"Yeah, I noticed. So, what's the truth then?"

"You want the truth?" In a burst of smoke and sparks it disappeared, only to smother the engineer in thick plumes of noxious smoke. As he struggled, clawing the fumes in a desperate attempt to part the air, he could feel the soft forearms of a woman wrapping around his neck, brutally closing off his windpipe. That he was currently nothing more than thought reimaged never occurred to him as he began to choke, his face turning blue. "Here's your cherished 'truth'," a hoarse whisper hissed in his ear before his face was shoved down, breaking through the plane of thought like it was thin ice. Bitter water greeted him, and as he gasped he inhaled a mouthful of the liquid and--

_-thelegacyoftheOrlandunameistoserveGoltanawhyhaveyouforsakenmewhyamIpowerlessssss_--

he screamed even though he had no air left. Bubbles rose from his gaping mouth as he bucked and squirmed, reduced to struggling like a common beast as dark spots gathered at the corners of his vision. Hands pushed his head down deeper before yanking him out by his bound length of hair and throwing him away. He rolled over to one side and began coughing up putrid water, his hacks wracking through his frame. Somehow he managed to get on his hands and knees while still coughing away, expelling every breath even as he continued to force himself to breathe.

"The truth is never pretty, is it?" the demon lazily called. The response it received was a series of subsiding coughs, and, when Mustadio was finally up to it, a very ugly glare. "You can't handle the truth, can you?"

"You think you're so damn strong when you prey on people's weaknesses like that?" Incredulous, he did the only thing he could do.

He laughed.

"What are you laughing about?" Clearly not amused by the engineer's hysterics, the demon screamed, "Tell me!"

Mustadio was rolling on the ground, immersed in laughter. His throat, already so raw from the recent lack of air and subsequent coughing attack, protested vehemently and he had another coughing fit. "Hahaha...whooo, that's great," he finally managed to giggle out.

Its face a blank mask, the demon began to stalk towards the young man. "Tell me," it repeated.

He grinned, propping up his upper body with his forearms. "You know what you remind me of? A neighborhood bully. Y'know, 'cause you both're all bark and no bite--" Before he could finish his sentence, the demon had jumped onto him, the image of his mother throttling him with taloned fingers.

"You and that damn dragoner!" It slammed his head against the ground once, twice, three times before it began to shred his neck. "She's needed, but you're just another warm body. I'll just use you to crack open your friends' shells so I get at their souls proper. Where should I shoot them, where does it hurt the most?" Once again, it slammed his head down.

Blood poured out of Mustadio's numerous neck wounds and his head throbbed something awful, but he still smiled.

Red splotches of anger blossomed on the demon's face in response. In front of his face it raised a hand, where long, needle-like claws sprouted from the tip of each finger. Forcing his head up with its other hand, it forced him to watch as it placed the points of its talons against his chest. "Normally I dislike to feast on a living being's soul. I like them as dead as me. But in this case, I'll make an exception just for you." It smiled, madness shining in its eyes. Then, it frowned. "Wha--"

The demon disintegrated, and in its wake Mustadio could hear something howling in fury. It sounded like the echo of a dragon's roar. As it grew louder, the white of the area brightened until even his image was glowing.

And then he was gone.

-0-

Mustadio groaned as life began to tingle in his extremities. As much as he wanted to fall asleep, he forced himself to open his eyes and to keep them open. Then he set to work at wriggling his fingers and toes until they responded to his commands. After a minute he was able to push himself up, propping himself up until he felt comfortable enough in kneeling. It was then when he finally got his first glimpse of the area he was in.

The corridor had to end somewhere, and this was the place. Wisps of pale mist drifted over his thighs, with an odd hissing noise catching his attention. As he looked around, he saw the white smoke curl around an essence, dissipating it. The area was growing darker, but there seemed to be some light coming from somewhere. With another sizzle, the last essence of the area faded into nothingness. Yet, he could see the still bodies of the friends he came to save all around him. _That doesn't make sense, _he thought reasonably. So, he looked up.

To his knowledge, demons didn't really come in all shapes and sizes. The only thing that separated archaic demons from ultima demons were their color schemes. At Limberry Castle, there had been apandas, which looked like the cousins of the former demons. The Lucavi were all different physically, but Mustadio had the feeling it was because they were important. Average demons didn't scare him anymore.

What hovered before him wasn't a demon. It was an atrocity to his eyes.

Somehow, it seemed to be neither a completely physical being nor a ghostly figure. It was a glutinous, vaguely transparent mass that expanded and decompressed in a steady beat. Inside its mass was a light the same color as the essences that once lined the corridor, though it was vastly duller in luminescence compared to the brightness of the quintessences. Veins pulsed along the sac in time with the beat, crossing through each other until they were implanted into the rock ceiling and walls, though whether they were needed to attach itself or if it was just an illusion was something that Mustadio didn't really want to find out.

_That...bitch_, it gurgled within his mind, giving him the feeling that a slug was slithering along the exposed skin at the back of his neck. After studying it for another second, he pulled his gaze away and reached for his gun.

"Yeah, well, I bet you started it," he mumbled, checking the muzzle of his beloved Blast Gun.

_What...do you think...you are doing? A toy...like that could never...hope to damage me._

"Oh, okay, I'll just listen to you and put away my gun like a good little boy." He aimed at the pulsating mass. "Y'know, you're really disgusting-looking. I mean, couldn't you have looked like a proper demon instead of _that_?"

_Wa-wait! We...share a common enemy. The cursed...Lucavi...if you destroy me, you will never...have a chance against the one...who seeks to make this place...his haven._

Intrigued, Mustadio lowered his gun. "Y'know, you're seriously gonna have to speak faster than that. Anyway, what Lucavi?"

_One...with a human with...a slippery mind. He is at...the very bottom of this...place. I have been merely...gathering my strength in order to...destroy him._

The engineer could only raise an eyebrow.

_You look at me...with distrust. But it is...the truth. Demons of...different tribes cannot...abide each other. Lucavi are...soul hunters...in coming here, they have...encroached upon my...territory._

"So, like, you want me to leave you alone and go and kill the Lucavi so...you can keep twisting the minds of humans and absorb their souls?" He frowned. "Seems like it'd be better to off the both of you."

_Fool...to kill me and the Lucavi...all that will happen...is a power vacuum that...other demons will immediately...seek to fill. Killing me...killing Lucavi...changes nothing._

Raising his gun again, Mustadio pursed his lips. "It's something," he murmured. "My friends aren't commodities so you can win out on your turf war. I won't allow it."

_You speak...as if you were a...killer. Yet, you could've...killed a part of me before...when you broke my illusion. Why not then?_

"Because my job's to fix things, and I kinda happen to like my mind without some crap thrown in to screw me over." He closed his eyes. "And now I see something else that needs to be fixed."

He fired.

As a boy, Mustadio had often been forced to travel through Zigolis Swamp while he worked at securing funds for the maintenance of the drifts. Although his father had abhorred them, he had been given a gun in order to protect himself as well as to show off the ancient technology of Goug as a sales pitch. During his trips, he found that ghouls and skeletons bothered him the most, as they had no reason to fear death. To counteract this, he found that thinking of the happiest things right before firing had an adverse effect upon the undead, and thus his skillset was completed with the attack he named Seal Evil. It was a skill only he could use, though he didn't know why.

The bullet pierced through the bulbous sac, smashing into the light in the center of the demon. The soul eater spasmed, and the engineer worried that the demon wasn't the undead it had hinted itself to be. He closed his eyes just as the sound of a crackling wave of stone broke through the muggy air, petrifying the demon. For a long time all the engineer could do was bask in his victory, before finally opening his eyes. As could be expected from Mustadio, he made a comment that summed up all his feelings at that moment.

"Oh, wow, it's really dark in here. Um...how're we supposed to get out now?"

-End to Chapter Four-

I'm sorry this chapter is a day late. It was a combination of too much _Digital Devil Saga: Avatar Tuner_and tests that did it. Oh, and I accidently erased part of the chapter. Whoops. And yes, the demon is in fact an undead slime. Or to use FF terms, an undead flan. Yep, a zombie dessert. Tasty.

To all those interested in the contest: I'm so happy to see there's so many of you interested enough to consider entering! It would be awesome if you all did, since it'd definitely keep to the high standards of the best of the FFT section!

Oh, and I don't normally do this, but I simply must. If you want good Delita-centric fanfiction, then you must read _Delita, the King_ by Nistelle. I find that most Delita fics tend to focus on an aspect of the guy. This story _is_ Delita. So, go read it. (As said by a person who thinks he's one of the most overrated characters ever.)

Reviewers!

TruebornChaos, please take a look at your review. See the response to my comments to you from last time? See that note you have to Evil Mina? Now see that review for the actual chapter? Great, because I almost didn't. I realize that most of the review is artificially inflated with one or two-liners, but it looks like the review part was thrown in as an afterthought. Thanks for the actual review.

Hello, Viktor Mayrin. Thanks for telling me about what you thought about Ch. 3 as well as the interlude. It doesn't take skill to include bits of other stories...well, when the stories are your own.

Yo, TobyKikami. Glad you liked the Worker 8 part. The technobabble was weird but fun to write. What spot does it get stuck on in Bariaus Valley? That sounds like an interesting glitch.  
Yeah, the demon gets lessons on being nastily nice from Dycedarg. Or Vormav. Or Draclau. And Reis _is_ awesome.

Well, Evil Mina, if all goes to plan this time you'll be missing Thursday morning's bus! Variety is the spice of life, after all. :)   
I don't quite understand your question, but I'll try to give an answer. As of the interlude, everyone with the exception of Reis, Mustadio and Worker 8 are completely mind-fried. Even though everyone keeps dissing the demon, it is actually more than capable at possessing multiple people while asserting their personalities.  
You know, I've accepted that Reis isn't going to have a very big fanbase ever. She's got one line in the course of the normal game, and then she has a dragon dismissal, a dragon attempt at changing her name, a human dismissal and human high faith/low brave quotes to add to that. Now that's personality. But I'll just keep chugging on, because it only takes one person to bring attention to any one character.  
I'm not the only nitpicker around here, I don't think. :P  
I don't worry about showing bad qualities or unpopular characters. I do get mildly anxious about the former, though I've only ever gotten one flame in my entire stint here at FFN. WHW showed me that I could do the latter, even though for the first five chapters I was barely matching the chapter count with reviews. Bah, I feel like I'm gloating. Hm, I think I'll stay away from talking about bad fanfics, only because I find I'm in the minority when it comes to my opinion.  
And finally, I don't speak Japanese, but I can read it. Not to the level of kern, of course, after all he's fluent, but to the level that I don't mind hopping Japanese websites for research and fanart.

I'm sorry, gleenthefrog. Having a well-written chapter doesn't matter if it can't be understood, and therefore I completely failed. I'd love to help you understand. Here's a short synopsis, and you can tell me if I covered everything that I failed to get across:  
Reis has issues regarding her draconic nature, which also happens to be the regret that the demon can latch onto in order to get into her mind. It does so, trying to affect her by wearing the image of Buremonda, who had used the spell she had protected Beowulf from. After she realizes that the demon has forced itself into her mind, she tries to find out how to break its hold on her, mistakenly believing that it has trapped her soul (for lack of a better word) from fully connecting with her body. Meanwhile, the two converse, with the demon trying to manipulate her, but she sees through it. When the area of her mind is affected by her flash of anger at one of the demon's comments, she realizes that she isn't trapped from accessing her body (when trying to probe the surroundings she hadn't realized that she was merely reflecting herself) and contacts the dragon hanging around her. Meanwhile, Worker 8 kills starving monsters.  
Back to Reis, who tricks the demon into using its power to access the deepest, most private part of her mind. It proceeds to cause excessive property damage, culminating in destroying one of her memories, and Reis gets pissed off. She steadies her holy breath through using the dragon's lifeforce and blasts all of the essences in the corridor, then realizes what she has done and angsts. And the moral of the story is don't piss off dragons, even if they look like Barbie dolls, and especially if you are a demon who is vulnerable to holy elemental attacks. Hope that helps!

Hi, Toastyann! The Deep Dungeon is okay, more because of the items found as opposed to the battles fought. You didn't miss too much by not playing it. Anyway, Mustadio is truly one of those characters that no one really thinks about but they keep him anyway just to get the secret characters. Since that's a sad existence, I thought some pro-Mustadio fic was needed.  
As for Agrias...I really wouldn't know. She rarely says something that's not about the princess, and isn't a knight's duty his life? Then again, we haven't seen her not possessed in this story.  
Don't envy me, I have so many ideas running around in my head that I can't not write a chapter of something every week. I thought you had already given up on The Journey, since that's what your profile says. It's a shame, but I can totally understand. Just do well in school!

Luna! Yay! I thought you were dead or trapped in school, which I suppose is the same thing. I'm surprised your school dumps work onto seniors; most schools slack off the work once you suffer through three years.  
I can only name two other Mustadio-centric fanfiction. One of them is a shounen-ai/yaoi angst deathfic, and the other is a shounen-ai comedy. There are extremes, and then there is that. And yes, I am proud to say that this is B-list plot right here.  
It looks like I won't be going to Otakon this year. Fall semester starts the week it ends and I actually want to see Sakamoto Maaya at AX.  
And yay to your having only one month of high school left!

**Epilogue: Jubilee**: "Will there ever be a time when people can live free of regret?"


	7. Epilogue: Jubilee

Penitentes

A Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic

By Tenshi no Ai

(C) Square Enix

**Epilogue: Jubilee**

The small fishing boat took to the waves with a deftness that could only be likened to a ninja sliding out a secreted knife from his clothing; it was as if the boat was unbothered by the churning waves and furious tumbles as the clouds overhead darkened. It was an old boat long rusted by the air and the sea, and yet its junky appearance gave it the look of a wizened old man who knew far more than the eye could see. Once, the meisters of Goug competed in a contest to see who could create the most useful technological advancement. One man, who wasn't a meister but was absorbed in mechanical research, opted to fit a contraption onto the belly of the vessel that would use the very water it churned through to improve the speed and handling of the boat through a complicated series of chutes and stopgaps. The boat propelled itself without the use of sails--though they were still there just in case--or manpower to work galley oars, lowering the prohibitive cost that prevented small fishing families from competing with the larger trade companies and fishing guilds. This invention didn't win its creator any awards, but it did give him the respect he needed to join the meisters' society and provide for his new family.

In a sense, the boat was Mustadio's elder sibling. It was just too bad he couldn't get a decent amount of sleep on its deck.

He yawned into the wooden deck as he stretched, having been jolted from his doze by a wave that wasn't content into just being sucked through the bottom of the boat. There were beds in the hold below, but not enough to accommodate everyone. Some of Ramza's party had been more affected by the soul eating demon's mental torture and needed some time by themselves to adjust. Mustadio didn't need to, he was just sore. Worker 8 had nearly depleted all of its reserves while protecting the fallen members of the group, and he had been needed to push the steel giant up several floors and onto the boat while getting into the random battles that were the staple of hanging around Ramza. He hadn't been the only one doing this, of course, but that didn't make it any easier on him after all the things he had already gone through.

Sighing loudly, he decided not to bother with sleep. He stood up and looked around, pleasantly surprised to see Ramza nearby. The younger man was leaning against the protective railing, his gaze fixed on the distance, where the lighthouse could no longer be seen. He looked like he needed cheering up, a service Mustadio was happy to provide. "Hey, Ramza," he said as he approached, one gloved hand up in a friendly little wave. A small smile touched Ramza's lips as he returned the greeting.

"Mustadio. Did you sleep well?"

Mustadio scoffed at the question, his features a tad more exaggerated than what the situation called for. "Have you tried sleeping on this deck? Being exposed in the open while fearing enemy attacks' got nothing on this boat."

"The air's nice, though," Ramza offered, before a smirk manifested itself on his face. "Unlike Goug's."

The engineer waved his hand in dismissal. "Fresh air's overrated. You gotta take your good with the bad, after all."

"I suppose. But seriously, the air is a lot better than it was down there, in the Deep Dungeon."

"Hm, yeah."

There was silence for a while as the two young men leaned against the railing, the wind tossing Ramza's hair about his face while Mustadio's tail whipped his neck. "You said there was a Lucavi there, right?" the young Beoulve finally said, to which his friend shrugged.

"That's what the demon said."

"We'll have to go back."

"Thought you'd say that." Mustadio turned around, his back leaning against the uncomfortable metal railing. "How long do you think until everyone's ready to go again?"

Sweeping one hand through his bangs, Ramza grimaced. "The effects from the demon seem to vary depending on how much someone took its manipulation to heart. I really don't know."

Mustadio grinned. "Real decisive there."

"I know." With uncertainty lining his brow, Ramza looked younger than his already youthful looks made him to be. "But I don't know what else to do. It seems that everything I do is the wrong thing. Every decision I make ends up with someone in trouble, hurt or dead." He lowered his gaze to the water, watching as the water churned out of the complex engine foamed champagne bubbly. Knowing the young man as well as he did, Mustadio knew that Ramza was determined to remain angsty and inconsolable. "How do you do it? How do you get through life without causing problems? How do you make the right decisions?"

After a moment of fidgeting, Mustadio decided on an answer. "Hey, do you think there's a right way to live?"

"Of course."

"Do you live your life according to it?"

"Yes."

"Then, what's the problem?" Before Ramza could protest, his expression as dark as the clouds above, Mustadio held up a hand. "Look, we live different lives 'cause we're different people. What works for me might not for you. Besides, who says I don't cause problems for people?"

A thoughtful expression cleared up Ramza's stormy look. "You have a point there."

"Hey!" The engineer pouted for a second before a smile broke through. "Every time I try to help someone I'm always kicked down. Oh, hey, d'ya mind if I head to Goug right after we reach Warjilis?"

Ramza shook his head. "No. Actually, I'd like to come too. Also, Worker 8 should be looked at. I'll just tell everyone they can either come with us or stay in town until we're ready to go back."

"Great," Mustadio answered, noticing that Meliadoul and Reis were coming up to the deck. "But, uh, can you answer one question for me?" With a blank expression the younger man nodded. "Why aren't we heading to Orbonne? The old guy...that priest said that Orbonne's the place to go, so...why?"

"Is it really?" Thin lines of stress curled around Ramza's mouth as he thinned his lips. "I was going to go there right away, but we did need better equipment. And now, to hear about a Lucavi in the Deep Dungeon..." He rested his chin against his hand as he glanced over at Mustadio. "What if that Lucavi is Vormav? My sister could be down there. And even if it isn't, we can't allow any other Lucavi to roam free, not with so many lives at stake."

"So why're you worrying?" Playfully, Mustadio slapped Ramza on the shoulder, thankful that the squire wasn't wearing the spiky armor of a few months ago. "You've got everyone in mind. As long as you keep that up, you've got the rest of us to help." Waving, the mechanic decided to leave his friend to think about what he had said. Whistling a nameless melody, he strode over to the other side of the deck. Reis half-turned to greet him, but she was the only one there. "Oh, sorry, I thought I saw Melly up here too," he said, frowning. The Divine Knight wasn't exactly the easiest person to misplace.

"She said that the spray of the water was going to ruin her armor, so she returned downstairs." Reis shrugged. "It's very cramped down there."

"Oh, yeah, I guess. I was trying to catch a nap up here, but it's not any better than being squished up against Worker 8 or something." He yawned and stretched his arms up before asking, "So, where's Beo?"

Smiling now, the woman returned her gaze forward, where streaks of sunlight could be seen breaking free of the clouds. "He's sleeping. He taught me a sleep spell so that I could cast it on him." Mustadio beamed at this.

"Oh, cast that on me!"

She giggled behind one small hand, taken in as she was by the young man's cheerful nature. "It took me three tries, and the second time I hit Miss Rafa because the space was too cramped. I don't think you'll want me to try that on you."

"I don't know. I saw your handiwork back there. _That_ was impressive."

She sighed, pensiveness worming its way into her expression. "No, it really wasn't."

Leaning his hip against the railing, he tried to reassure her with a smile. "C'mon, no one else could've done that. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be on this boat right now."

"I'd think that you had a lot to do with that as well," Reis argued, a peculiar glimmer in her light brown eyes surprising him. It was almost challenging. "All I did was destroy the souls it used."

"Isn't that what it was?" he asked, before realizing that she was focused on another point entirely. "Oh. I'm, uh, I'm sorry."

"So am I," she whispered. Then she shook her head, threading her fingers through her hair as a nervous gesture. "I don't regret it, and yet at the same time I do. Will there ever be a time when people can live free of regret?"

_Why is everyone asking me all these complicated questions?_ he couldn't help but wonder. "I, I don't know. I mean, regret's pretty complicated and all. I bet it creeps up on people no matter what."

"It's only a human emotion." Inexplicably, she smiled, confusing him in the process. "You're probably right, I think. Anyone who calls themselves 'human' will have to face adversity amid their own decisions and actions. It's not really living if you don't know how to suffer correctly."

"There's a proper way to suffer?" A slow grin of puzzlement spread across his face. "You'd better tell some of these people--" he waved behind and below him, "-- 'cause they could use some serious help in finding the right way."

Her expression became somber again as her hands fiddled with one of the locks of hair that hung beside her face. "I meant to say that even you will have deep regrets of your own. But, it might be better than continual happiness."

Confusion burned away to anger, which faded away once he realized that she probably didn't know what she was talking about. After all, she hadn't traveled with them in either of her forms until recently. "Hey, I've had my problems. Just because I'm not lashing myself because of them doesn't mean that I've haven't suffered."

"Yes, but have you caused yourself pain?"

Dumbfounded, he stared at her as he thought back on his life. Everything he did, he did without regrets. That was the proper way to live life, after all. Why would he want to hurt himself when everything was going his way? Even when his father had been kidnapped, he had found friends to depend on, people who would help him. In the end, everything turned out all right. He followed his friends while believing in this simple philosophy, and when they reacted as if everything was their fault instead of simple circumstance he had always thought _well, it's because they live different lives from me. I can't understand them. They're nothing I've ever seen back home._ That his friends were looking at him in the same way was unsettling to him.

"I think it's almost necessary to lash yourself at least once," she continued. "It's masochistic, but so is life."

"But I don't want to live that kind of life where all you're doing is berating yourself for the action of living," Mustadio retorted. The only response he received was a slow shake of the head, the kind his father would use to convey the fact that there had been a misunderstanding, and it was his fault that he couldn't work his mind around it. "Look, I'll see you around," he muttered, walking away from the dragoner. Between Ramza and her it was becoming oppressively weird up on the deck, so he decided to go downstairs to the hold, where it would just be oppressive.

He nearly ran into someone as he jogged to the stairs, and it took him a step back and a glance down to realize it was Agrias. The Holy Knight glanced up at him with mild surprise in her dark eyes before lowering her head. "Excuse me," she murmured as she moved past him. Reaching out, he grabbed her forearm, an action that earned him a harsh look.

"Woah, sorry Aggie. I just want to talk to you for a sec."

"There are ways to let someone know of this intention without resorting to physically handling them," she replied in a bland tone.

He let go, unsure why he had went to such lengths just to get her attention. Sure, he felt bad, but... "Right, sorry. Hey, uh, I just kinda wanted to apologize for back there, um, when I thought that the demon was you."

She only crossed her arms, her face as bland and dry as her normal tone of voice. "Why?"

" 'Why' what? Why am I saying sorry?" Mustadio could only shrug in befuddlement. " 'Cause I feel bad, maybe? I mean, I assumed that you were just, y'know..."

"A cold, unfeeling woman whose only concern was to the princess to such an extent that I would use my own comrades in order to get back to her?" she stated, arching one eyebrow with dignified poise.

"Er..." Ashamed, he hung his head. "Yeah. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe."

"I see. Admittedly, I can see how you could be influenced by such a viewpoint, but I have long since accepted that returning to the princess can only be a dream. In fact, it may no longer be my dream." The engineer's head shot up at this announcement, but her face showed no emotion. In a quieter tone, she continued, "I have been conversing a great deal on this subject with Sir Orlandu, and now I believe that there are other ways to serve one's liege other than the most direct."

Exhaling through his teeth, Mustadio was the picture of embarrassment. "Oh. I, I see."

There was something like pity in her eyes as she nodded. "Do not feel bad. I might not have told you this before." Agrias smiled, and in that moment she looked as if she were an angel descending from on high to bestow grace. "You did well down there. Isn't that what matters?"

"No." He frowned as shame turned into bitterness. "It isn't a matter of the ends justifying the means or whatever. I--"

"I don't care." Holding up a hand in the same way that a nanny would to quiet disobedient children, she silenced him. "I prefer you when you're tenaciously happy. Try to maintain who you are in the face of adversity, if only for your sake."

"Reis said something like that. But I'm just apologizing."

"Apologizing is one's way to absolve oneself of their guilt and regrets. You shouldn't need to feel that way, so don't bother. If you'll excuse me, I had wanted some time alone." With a proper nod, she left, his eyes following her as she made her way to a section of railing overlooking neither where they had left or where they were going.

_...What the hell? It's like this deck's making everyone all scary-introspective. I'd better get down below before the same thing happens to me._ However, he couldn't help but steal a glance at the formal lady knight before he descended into the depths of the boat. _Regret? Me? Nah, that can't be it. I just feel bad 'cause of my assumption, but that's...that's not regret. Nope, not at all!_

He just felt bad because he had made a bad judgment call on a friend. No, that wasn't regret at all.

-End to _Penitentes_-

So, that's that. A quick little story, one I truly enjoyed writing, and it's finished. The day that I'm putting this epilogue up is my twenty-first birthday, so I'm not feeling nearly as sad about ending this story. To all the people eagerly awaiting the next chapter of UFC (are there really that many?), it comes out on 5/17. Anyway, thank you for reading this story, and I hope you all enjoyed it!

To all those interested in the contest, some of the rules have been clarified just in case you weren't sure what was acceptable.

Reviewers!

Hey, Viktor Mayrin. Yeah, I originally thought of Seal Evil as a special type of bullet, but then I thought about Mustadio loading it into one of the spell guns, only to have one of the spells activate with that foreign metal object still in the barrel, causing a backfire that makes the gun explode and severely injuring him in the process. So, that was out. Logic doesn't mesh well with fanfiction.

TruebornChaos, if I wasn't giggling over your 'review', I would chide you over the fact that a review at the end of a bunch of miscellaneous stuff would be better than an apology...and no review at all! Heh, just...just leave one of those thoughtful reviews you're so good at, alright?

Hi, TobyKikami. Thanks for telling me where that spot is, I suspected it was on that big island. And I'm so glad that the chapter was well worth its one day delay, because I was really close to delaying it for a week.

Maybe so, gleenthefrog, but I've always prided myself on having clear, easily understood stories, so if something doesn't come across right I have to accept that it's a problem on my end of things. I'm glad you liked the chapter as well as the summary!

Yo, Evil Mina. Believe me, you're not the only one dealing with a case of brain shrivellage...and I don't care if that's not a real word. I'm really happy you liked Mustadio's complicated feelings over his mother; it's one of those things that many people can take badly to because it sounds so cold to not care. And, as for the demon, if this were a different type of fic, I would've totally made it NOFA. After all, no one can survive too long if they're naked.  
As for your questions, the demon used Drift 33 because it underestimated Mustadio's observation skills. It's just nailing down that whole theme of how underestimating the wrong person can lead to a world of hurt. With the second question, the difference lies in everyone in the group knowing about Balbanes' reputation as a Really Good Person, as well as the fact that he was Ramza's father as well as a good friend of Orlandu's. Everyone can understand friendship, and would have sympathy considering that recently they had to deal with Dycedarg. However, duty to one's liege is something that Mustadio would not understand easily, and Meliadoul would be ambivalent about it because she served God's will first and foremost. The demon did not want suspicion and always went the easier route, which is also true in how it characterized Agrias.  
Yep, kern is awesome. It's because of a mini-review he gave Atlus' _Stella Deus_ that I'm saving my money for _Atelier Iris_ instead.

Don't we all wish we could be carefree, Luna? Thanks for pointing out that error.  
You've got one intelligent class there. My year wasn't so bad, but there was a real disparity between the IB/AP people and the regular people. Public schooling in my state is practically a joke, even if the universities are highly regarded. Hope you survive your tests and the lazy people in your projects!  
I certainly hope you reviewed the story I recommended. :)

Hello, Cake Dance! Hope you completely get over your cold soon!  
I'm very happy to hear that you were affected by Reis at the end of the interlude (not that I'm happy that you were that sad!). Wow, fanart of Reis would be much appreciated. It's so rare, believe me.  
The funniest thing about zodiac signs are that, although everyone only looks at the sun signs, in astrology it's actually the moon signs and rising signs that truly matter in someone's personality.


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